by Laney McMann
“Take it easy over there.” Tristan walked in the back door, dripping from head to toe. “Can somebody get me a towel?”
Benny rolled her eyes and wandered off.
“Hey, Tris.” Max held his fist in the air, feebly. Tristan walked over and tapped it. “Thanks.”
“Anytime, man. Anytime.”
“Where’s Justice?” Max asked, his breathing calming a bit.
“You know him … still flying the perimeter. Probably daring one of those Scaths to move a little closer.” He laughed. “They can’t break through the boundary lines, though, so you’re both safe for the night.”
Boundary lines? I’d heard someone say that at least three times.
Max’s head fell back against the armrest. “We’re surrounded?” He rubbed his temples, glanced toward the ceiling, and groaned. “I thought …” He shook his head. “I don’t know what I thought.” He dragged his hand through his hair. “Scaths hunt to kill.”
“And the Leanaan Sidhe?” I asked.
“Her, too.” He closed his eyes. “I’m sorry. I should’ve …” He exhaled and gazed into my eyes. “I thought you were safe with me.”
“I am.” I slipped my hand against his.
“Better not let Grandma Mac see you standing on the carpet dripping wet.” Justice said—or so I presumed as he didn’t sound like Tristan or Sam and had just walked through the back door.
Tristan made an instant hop back to the tile, just inside the door.
“And there’s nothing wrong with playing a little cat and mouse with a few Scaths.” Justice grinned, folding muscular arms over his chest, his blue T-shirt tight across his shoulders. Similar to Tristan, brown hair framed a boyish, almost angelic face, but at the same time, he had a stern, authoritative quality.
“Knock it off, you guys.” Sam walked in after Justice and stood in the doorway. “This isn’t some kind of joke. We can keep them off us, but not if you’re provoking them.” Sam glanced toward Max.
“Max is in no shape to fight off anything if we lose control of the situation. Look at him.” Sam gestured toward him lying on the couch.
“Tristan, go clean up,” Sam said. “We have a long night ahead of us.” He remained standing in the threshold.
“Hey, Max,” Justice said with a laugh. “Next time … stay clear of girls dressed in goth.” He shook his head. “You’re lucky you aren’t human. She would’ve taken you down.” Laughing harder, he brushed past Sam on his way out, shifted to his monstrous form and took to the sky.
Max grinned. “My roommates.”
“I gathered.”
Benny marched through the family room, threw a towel at me and another to Sam who threw it to Tristan.
“You’ll need to stay here tonight, Layla,” Sam said. “It isn’t safe to leave.” He spoke with authority, not walking any farther into the house. “Scaths can’t pass through the barriers, but we’ll stay close all the same until morning. After that … we’ll just have to wait and see.” He turned away.
“Sam …” Max lifted his head. “Thanks.”
Sam nodded brusquely without facing Max. “Yep.” He shifted form and took off into the night sky.
“So, you do know each other?” I raised an eyebrow.
“We do.”
“Why didn’t you say anything? The night at The Pub … when Benny introduced you …”
“It wasn’t really the time to lay everything out there. Sam and I have a history. He calls Tristan and Justice ‘my boys’ because we’re roommates. He thinks they listen to me more than him. Undermining his authority. He doesn’t like that, so he doesn’t like me.” He pushed to his feet but swayed and ended up back on the couch.
“Maybe I should help.”
Aiding him up the stairs was no easy feat. I prodded him to keep climbing, while Benny made sure he didn’t topple over backwards.
Max fell into bed after we steered him into his room, the moonlight casting an ethereal glow across the white walls and bed sheets.
“What did you mean about Sam’s authority?” I asked, sitting on the edge of the bed.
“He isn’t like us. Maybe you noticed?” He chuckled, kicking off his shoes. “He’s one of The Fallen. A guardian, like Benny.” He glanced over toward where she stood by the chest of drawers. “Sort of like Benny. He watches over the night skies and protects humans from the evils that lurk there. He’s repaying his debt.”
Okay …
“So Tristan and Justice are …”
“In his service. Under his watch. They’re brothers, my best friends, and two of The Fallen.”
“The Fallen …” My eyebrows lifted. “As in Angel?”
“As in Angel. They’re real, you know, The Fallen.”
I didn’t answer. “They’re gargoyles . . .”
He smiled. “Angels aren’t all white wings and halos.” He shifted the pillow under his head. “Anyway, Fallen means cast out of heaven. Their forms are part of their punishment.”
My eyes narrowed. “And why are you … associated with them?” I wasn’t sure how to politely word my question. Descendants of Celtic Gods and Fallen Angels didn’t seem to fall into the same category. Then again, what did I know?
He shrugged. “Tristan and Justice have been friends of mine for a long time. I’ve never given much thought to what they are—it’s who they are that matters, and they’re good guys. They watch my back; I watch theirs.”
I didn’t pose any more questions. My head had been filled to capacity before I’d witnessed the Gargoyles and the Scaths—not to mention the Leanaan Sidhe.
“I’m going to crash downstairs and keep an eye on the situation.” Benny shut the door behind her.
Max squashed his pillow, shoving it further under his neck.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” I asked again.
“Yeah, just weak.” He yanked his blankets over himself. “I’m guessing you finally believe us all now?” He rolled onto his side and faced me, grinning. “Hard to deny the truth when you’re throwing fire around.”
Very hard.
“Why are we being hunted?” I asked in a whisper, looking at my hands. It was a question I’d been trying to muster up the courage to ask, afraid of the answer.
He gave a weak laugh. “Because of who we are.”
“And who are we, exactly?” I glanced up. “I mean … I erupted in flames …” The memory made me sick to my stomach.
“Yeah … I saw.” He smirked, his voice slurring. “Beautiful.” His eyes closed, a soft smile still touching his lips as he sighed and fell further under the weight of exhaustion.
“Max?”
His eyes popped open and sagged again.
“You didn’t answer my question.”
“We are The Fire Born … the last of our kind … Ancients. The Legend …”
A chill ran down my spine. The what?
“Max?” My voice wavered. I leaned closer to him. His chest rose and fell with deep ragged breaths, and as he rolled onto his back, his soft smile remained. “Max?”
We’re what? The Fire Born?
• • •
I dug in Max’s chest of drawers, found one of his white T-shirts, and changed out of my damp clothes in the bathroom, rinsing the bitter taste of nausea out of my mouth. Thankful the shirt fell to my thighs, I dragged an oversized cushy chair from the corner of the room and sat beside the bed, trying to shake the uneasy feeling shimmying up my back. The fear of knowing something waited outside, lurking, made my skin crawl.
My gaze swept over the wounds on Max’s neck, and anger surged up from my belly, replacing the fear. Suppressing it, I rose to my feet, lowering the volume of the music Max always played, and settled back in the arm chair with my legs curled underneath me.
Watching him sleep soothed my reeling head. He was safe. For now …
This is real. This insane alter-universe we’re all standing in. How is that possible?
I laid my head against the armrest, my gaze settling on
Max’s face.
No matter what happened tonight, or what’s still to come, you are my heaven, and I will protect you
16
I repositioned myself in the armchair for the umpteenth time, unable to get comfortable. Questions swirled through my mind—doubts and skepticism, too. The night’s events had taught me a harsh lesson: without knowledge, I would become a sitting target, and Max—I couldn’t breathe when I thought about what could have happened to him.
Brushing his arm with my fingertips, I pushed to my feet and headed to the desk, where I opened his laptop and searched the Internet for Celtic Gods.
Streams of sites filled the page. I clicked the first one and settled in to read.
The Tuatha Dé Danaan
Celtic Gods
(The People of Dana) The Celtic Gods, or the Tuatha De Danaan (Tua Day Dhanna), are believed by some historians to be an ancient Irish race, perhaps one of the Island’s earliest civilizations. Thought to be immortal beings with supernatural powers, strength and skill, the race is believed to have ruled ancient Ireland, or Eire, thousands of years ago, before being driven underground by an invading race. Some believe that the Tuatha Dé still exist in the Otherworld, also referred to as the Land of the Sidhe (Shee), or the Faerie Realm.
I thought of Benny, watching over the house. Protecting me like she’d always done. Somehow I’d known she had. Still … a fairie? Benny? Bossy, demanding, Benny? I couldn’t see it—no matter how many times she said it.
Max’s uneven breathing rasped from across the room. Waiting until he resettled, I turned my focus back to the laptop screen.
Sidhe (Shee) are actually mounds of earth that dot the Irish countryside and are thought to be the doorways into the realms that lie within. These mounds still exist in present day.
Generational legend insists that the dwindled race of Tuatha Dé DANAANS exists within these realms beyond our world.
Still others conclude that the doorways to the Otherworld can only be found deep within the ancient wood at the base of the Tree of Life, whose massive root systems are thought to plunge into the depths of the earth and beyond.
Some Celtic Gods are believed to have the ability to shape-shift or change their appearance at will. Although legend tells us that the People of Dana passed into the Otherworld as Fairies, historic scholars deny this, stating it is nothing more than myth.
The Underworld is said to be the home of the Fomorians, OR FOMORE, (Faoi-mhuir), another ancestral race of Ancient Ireland, or Eire. They are believed to be eternal enemies of the Tuatha De, having been driven into the Shadow Realm of the Underworld by the race in earlier times. The Damned are also said to call the Underworld home.
Wars were won and lost between the Fomorians and the Tuatha Dé Danaan, and the animosity is still believed to be strong.
Of course, all of these belief systems are based on little more than ancient bits of supposed witnessed accounts and old texts. Most believe them to be nothing more than myth and legend. Research into these ancient races has proven little. Today, these ideas are nothing more than popular titles for video games and comic books.
Leaning back in my chair, I stared at the screen glowing brightly in the dark room. Site after site, page after page, all said the same thing. Myth and legend. Folklore. Bedtime stories. Wives tales. No proof.
I closed the laptop. Proof didn’t matter. I knew the Tuatha Dé Danaan were my people. How or why, I had no idea. Something inside me just said it felt right.
A blanket lay draped across the end of the bed. I threw it on the armchair, searched for a pillow in the closet, and settled down in a daze.
Max’s breathing remained ragged and drawn. Scooting the chair closer to the bed, I draped my arm over his, allowing his warmth to penetrate my body and the steady music to drown my thoughts, my confusion, and the overwhelming sense of loss I didn’t understand embedding itself in my heart.
••
A forest canopy soars high above my head; tree branches crisscross one another, forming a makeshift ceiling. Sunlight cascades through the branches, bathing my mother’s smiling face in a warm yellow light.
A little girl, no more than two years old, runs laughing through the trees.
I chase after her. Cara.
My aunt stands in the sun watching us play and beckons to me with a smile and open arms. I run to her.
A crown adorns my mother’s mass of long golden hair. She watches me build sandcastles on the beach.
A boy crouches beside me, a toy shovel held in his hand.
Turrets rise high above the sea in the distance, a castle keeping protective watch over its shoreline. Its shining crystal gates catch the sun and sparkle down on us from the hilltop.
My mother takes my hand, and we walk through the forest. The rush of waterfalls cascades close by. Gardenias grow on their banks. Sweet perfume floods the air. I breathe it in.
Darkness falls.
My mother grips my hand in hers. Clawing branches reach for us as we run. Oak trees with faces leer as we race by. Tears cascade down my face.
A man runs beside us. “Go now, child. Go with your mother. It will be all right.” He gives me a sorrowful smile and turns away.
“Dad?”
“Go on, now. Be safe,” he says, before he fades into the trees.
“Don’t go!” I try to tug free from my mother’s grasp, but she pulls me back, away from him. “Wait!”
“Go, child.” Sadness weighs the whispered words.”Find MacKenzie. He will be looking for you. Don’t lose each other. He is your Tie to this world.”
An explosion engulfs the forest. My mother throws me to the ground. I turn back, but my father’s voice is gone, as is he, lost in the black ash of charred trees and underbrush.
We run through the darkness, tripping on tree roots. Burning heat licks at my heels. Tears trail down my face, and I spin. Falling. Through nothing, and everything. Trees whir by in a blur of green and black. Sounds fade to a steady buzz like crickets in my ears. My feet slam into the ground.
My mother stands over my bed, a cup in her hand. The same cup every night.
“I don’t want to drink that.” I turn my head away.
“You have to, Teine. It will make you have sweet dreams.”
Irish music plays softly in my room. My favorite songs. “Where is Max?” I ask, drinking from the cup.
“You don’t know anyone named Max.”
But … yes I do. He’s my friend. My best friend.
• • •
I sprang from my chair, staggering to my feet, my heart hammering, head spinning, nausea welling up again.
Squinting, I brought the dark room into focus.
Max. Stroking his arm, I sank back down in the chair, entwining my fingers through his, caressing the back of his hand with my thumb and slowing my breaths.
Just a bad dream.
Beyond the bedroom windows, the sun’s orange light barely peeked above the ocean’s horizon.
It couldn’t have been later than five o’clock in the morning. Besides the soft music playing in the background, the early morning remained almost silent.
No dreams when the music played, but I did dream.
Like an old fashioned movie reel, the vision repeated in my mind. Scene by scene. All flying by in a flashed blur of muted color.
“You okay?” Max’s voice startled me, yanking my attention back into the still bedroom.
“Yeah, I just … I-I’m fine. You can go back to sleep. I’m sorry I woke you.”
He held his arms out. “Lay with me.”
A smile touched my lips as he pulled me down beside him, wrapping his arms around my body. My dream hovered close to the surface, important somehow, but Max’s steady breathing brushed along the back of my neck, causing shivers to run across my shoulders, and wiped the dream away in one swift motion.
I rolled over, facing him, watching his hair fall across his eyes as he dozed, his face framed by the warm radiance of the slowly rising s
un. I rested my arm over his waist, my gaze settling on his neck, the bites shining scarlet against his golden skin. Lightly trailing my fingertips across them, I leaned closer, and kissed them one by one, hoping my touch would heal them, somehow. His breathing hitched, and I slowly pulled away.
His grey eyes glinted in the darkness, and as I rested my head back on the pillow, a sleepy smile touched his mouth.
“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” I whispered.
He shook his head slightly, his gaze never leaving mine. “You didn’t.”
Warmth permeated my body as he swept the loose strands of hair from my face, his touch sending tiny shocks across my skin, creating a low vibration between us. He caressed my jaw with his thumb and brushed his mouth against my lips, under my chin, down my neck.
I gasped when he rolled on top of me, his mouth trailing back to mine. A breeze blew against my face. My hands slid down his back, over his waist and under his shirt. The windows rattled in their frames, and with a swift push of his arms, Max forced himself off of me, and sat back on his knees with heavy breaths, face flushed.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean …” He sighed, dragging his hand through his hair.
I sat up. “Why are you apologizing?”
His gaze carried across my bare thighs, and he rubbed his eyes, glancing away. “I just … I don’t want you think that this … that I …” He inhaled a deep breath and stared up at the ceiling. “You mean everything to me, Lay. I don’t want anything from you. I just want … you.”
My face burned, heart thundering in my chest as I pushed up to my knees. “You have me.”
He glanced down. “I could’ve lost you last night.”
“But you didn’t.” I leaned into him and grazed the corner of his mouth with mine.
A moan escaped his throat as he returned the kiss, cradling my back, leaning me against the pillows. Shivers radiated up my spine at his touch, as his body lowered onto mine, his weight resting on his hands.
I pulled him closer, closing any space between us, my fingers trailing down his sides, slipping under the hem of his shirt. He cupped my jaw in his hand, kissing me harder.