Fiona was different in other ways, too, and once she revealed her secrets, they might enjoy each other’s company all through the night. He wanted to try having sex in his human form. Evan and Wynn hinted that making love with human body parts was a pleasurable experience.
She appeared to have other plans.
“I cannot share me life with a stranger. I have a mission to complete, and then I shall return to me home. Neither you, Mac, or Toal if that be his real name, or anyone else, will keep me from me quest. Goodnight.”
She ran from the tavern, leaving Dougal hard, unsatisfied, and worried. Bloodthirsty pirates, and now Toal, were out there. Fiona was out there, as well, but how would she react if he followed her?
Only one way to find out. Follow her.
***
Worried Dougal might follow, Fiona hitched up the hem of her dress and raced across the square. Keeping to the shadows wasn’t any trouble at all. The bonfire had died to cinders, and clouds hid the moon. Her vision wasn’t quite as good in this form, which gave her an idea.
With no bed to call her own, and no yearning to share another’s, hiding in the forest as a deer was her best option. Her cheeks heated at the foolishness of her baser thoughts. Why did she feel the urge to seek out Dougal’s bed? Why did his unwanted kiss make her legs tremble? Who was he to take such liberties? He was handsome, for a human. He smelled of manly musk, and his chest was like granite. His lips were firm, and he tasted like ale.
If she were to find her friend, running away had seemed the only option. The mystery was why Dougal’s expressive eyes flickered with pain, each time she mentioned Cliona’s name. Cliona had shared some tidbits of her life outside the herd, but not enough to persuade Fiona to ask Dougal’s help.
“Nay, I need to forget about Dougal, and find a quiet area by the fence.”
Once alongside the tall wall of timber, far from the light of a torch, she shed her clothing, and tucked them beneath leaves. With a call to her otherworldly powers, she leaped over the wall and landed on the other side. She ran into the bushes, stopped beside a huge tree, and listened. The birds had quieted, and night creatures shuffled through the underbrush. Odd smells wafted through the air, but she couldn’t rely on her human nose. If she did, she’d return to the tavern and jump into Dougal’s arms. He smelled very good.
The shift erupted from her head to her toes, and she closed her eyes to the brilliant light. Her body tensed, and bones cracked. When she opened her eyes, she glanced at her forearms. Her pale skin had transformed into white fur, and her hands turned to cloven hooves. Once on four legs, she shook her fur, and raised her delicate doe nose. Her superior sense of smell caught something odd. Salt, sand, and unwashed male?
Thud!
Fiona jumped. An arrow hit the tree beside her, a few inches above her head. Before she could take a breath, she was running. She bounded over tree stumps, tangled her hooves in brambles, and fought through branches that clawed at her fur, as she ran for her life. When she paused at a wide trail, and raised her head, the clouds had moved on. Moonlight must have aided the hunter, but why would anyone be hunting at night?
Heading along the trail, away from the village, she listened. The thud of her hooves could not hide the pounding of booted feet. He was chasing her through the forest, with moonlight lighting up her white fur like a candle. She should have stayed within the village. Would Dougal have shared his bed with her? More important, would she have enjoyed herself?
Another arrow flew past her left eye and thudded into a tree trunk. The huntsman was gaining on her, but he was on foot. If she could find a side trail, she might lose him in the brush and brambles.
When a narrow deer trail shot off to the left, she lunged onto it, racing through the thick foliage. Spring buds sprouted on the bushes, and leaves had formed on the higher branches of rowan trees. Shoots of spring grass grew along the trail, but there was no time to stop and taste them. The hunter followed, and if she tarried for a few seconds, his arrow might find its mark.
As another arrow whistled closer, Fiona was pushed aside, and tumbled to the ground. Someone had shoved her! The arrow made another horrible thud, followed by a guttural cry of distress. As she rolled to a stop in a pile of tangled limbs, a huge red stag, carrying a magnificent rack of antlers, stood where she had been standing moments earlier. He clawed the earth with his hooves, and turned toward the sound of the hunter crashing through the vegetation. When she spied an arrow’s broken shaft, an arrow meant for her, lodged in the stag’s left shoulder, her heart stopped. She jumped to her feet.
He’d shoved her from its deadly path, only to be horribly rewarded. As she stared at the mottled design woven through the red fur along his backbone, she sensed the human coming closer. If the hunter shot another arrow, the stag was doomed.
Pushing through the overgrowth, she waited. The hunter passed close to her, but was too intent on his prize to notice her.
“What’s this? I was after the white bitch, but you’ll do.” He notched another arrow, and took aim.
Fiona lunged from her hiding place and barreled into him, felling him beneath her hooves. She stomped on his arm until he released the bow. His cries were more of surprise, than pain. She crushed the arrow, and nipped at his quiver until the others fell to the dirt. She smashed all of them, then glared at the human sprawled beneath her.
As the human raised his hands to protect his face, the red stag shuffled closer, but did not act as if he intended to help her kill the human. He did not lower his antlered head, nor did he raise his hooves. The scent of blood thickened, and she came to her senses. They needed to find a safe place before the human got to his feet.
Fiona backed away, and drew closer to the stag. She nuzzled his neck, and gently pushed him in a direction that would take them away from the human. He needed to heal, and the only place she could think of, were the fairy pools she had encountered the other day. She could shift into a human, and wash his wound.
First, she’d have to remove the arrow. She’d need human fingers to accomplish that. Could she get him to follow her? The clouds had disappeared altogether and the moon shone bright. Getting her bearings, she thought they were closer to the pools than the village. No one in the village could help heal an injured deer, so it was up to her. The animal would either allow her to help, or would run away the moment she shifted.
She nudged him again, and loped down the trail that led east. When she glanced back over her shoulder, his head had drooped, but he followed. Wary of other hunters, she kept her nose in the air, and her ears at attention. She swiveled them back and forth, keeping her eyes on the path, and the injured stag.
He was magnificent, but where did he come from? He’d shoved her out of the arrow’s path, and took it himself. Why would a simple animal do that? Not even humans would sacrifice their lives like that. Cliona swore humans thrived on self-preservation. Grady lorded over everyone in the herd, but she couldn’t see him jumping in front of an arrow for her. What would she do if the stag died because of her?
She wished Cliona was here. Her friend would know what to do, or say, to appease the stag, though there was something oddly familiar about him. Was it his eyes?
When they reached the edge of the meadow, which they would have to cross in order to get to the fairy pools near the base of the Black Cuillin Hills, she stopped. Glancing back, she studied his eyes. Pain radiated from them, and he blinked as if desperate to keep them open. Looking at his shoulder, blood had stained his fur a darker shade of red, and pooled by his hoof as they stood.
She sensed something special about him, the same feeling she got whenever she and Cliona played together in the forest. They were good companions, but she never stayed longer than a day. Fiona wondered where she had disappeared to. Finding her was imperative, but the bleeding deer beside her was more important.
Why? I have no idea.
CHAPTER 12
Dougal had no idea how he was still on his feet. Blood seeped from the
wound, dripped down his leg, and pooled beside his hoof. He was in great pain, which was understandable. The broken shaft of an arrow was lodged in his shoulder. If he could get the arrow out, and shift into his dragon, the wound would heal.
He saw no possibility of either occurring any time soon, yet he followed the doe. There was something familiar about this animal, and it wasn’t just the white fur. If his senses could return to some semblance of clarity, he would stake his life on Fiona.
It must be her, he hoped.
The scent of her was what made him track her to the trail. The other scent, caused by the human, and the shocking whisper of arrows flying toward her, had prompted him to intervene.
He assumed he could push her away, and outflank the weapon, but he was too slow. He was paying for his mistake, but at least the doe was unharmed. She’d taken down the hunter and destroyed his weapons. She’d nearly stomped the life out of him, but something in her doe eyes made him look at her, calming her, until she left the pirate alone.
When she’d nudged him, he figured she wanted him to follow. The loss of blood was affecting him, and he was ashamed to admit he was lost, so he followed her. When they stumbled onto a meadow and he recognized the Black Cuillin Hills in the distance, he was both happy and fearful. He could find his cave, his home, but he couldn’t shift into anything while the arrow was stuck in his shoulder. All the shifters he knew were in the village, making merry, making love, or sleeping after a long day of celebrating. Why wasn’t he with them?
I wanted to follow Fiona.
The doe had to be her. The scent he’d tracked to the wall, and the neatly hidden pile of clothes, belonged to her. He wanted it to be her, not only because his life depended on her and her ability to shift into human form. Removing the arrow was imperative. Then they would talk.
They hobbled across the meadow. Out of the relative safety of the woods, the doe lifted her head often, scenting the air, and her ears swiveled constantly, listening.
His senses were useless, muddled by pain. His breathing worsened, and he worried every labored breath would be his last.
When he stumbled, she was suddenly beside him. Raising his head, he cried out as only a stag would, calling to his mate. Her big brown eyes blinked in surprise, but she did not retreat.
Instead, she touched her pink nose to his, and snorted. It was a start.
The thunder of a waterfall grew louder, and he recognized they were near the area of the fairy pool Orin and Vika had played in, the day he’d flown them to it. He had never entered any of the pools along the foot of the Black Cuillin Hills. The bodies of clear water, beneath a series of waterfalls, were too small to accommodate a dragon, but he’d sipped its invigorating water. He never shifted into his human form to swim in one. He’d only shifted into a human a couple of times, mainly to assist his brothers.
He ought to be in the village, watching over everyone, not bleeding like a stuck boar. The pain had subsided, but he feared it was due to the numbness that gripped him from his shoulder to his hoof. The arrow had to come out, and soon. If he collapsed in the meadow, he would be a target for hunters, pirates, or wolves.
Dougal shuddered at the thought of a pack of wolves swarming around his carcass. He’d seen Wynn in action in his wolf form, and it wasn’t pretty; growls and fangs, slobber and the stench of bloody wet fur.
Fiona trotted ahead, glancing left and right. It was an odd feeling, being the one needing help. If Fiona hadn’t attacked the hunter, Dougal would be a bleeding heap on the forest floor.
He stumbled again, and his vision blurred. The night was dark, but for a stream of moonlight turning Fiona’s fur into silver. The guiding light helped, and as long as she was leading the way, he’d do his best to follow.
The gurgle of rushing water made his next step falter with overwhelming hope. While supping among the villagers, he’d heard the tales of the fairy pools and the healing property of the water. The scent of the water was heavy with minerals and the flowers, edging the rocks.
He remembered Vika sitting on those flower-strew rocks, her belly round with Evan’s babe. The scent of flowers twisted into the fragrance of Fiona, rich and earthy. His nostrils flared and he gasped, finding it hard to breathe. A drink of the fairy water might do him some good, but he really needed to get the arrow out of his shoulder before he…
As he followed her to the side of a large pool, tucked behind a thick clump of brambles, the ground rushed to meet him, and his world went dark.
***
In the dark, split only by a thin moonbeam, Fiona watched with horror as the red stag collapsed to the ground. She galloped to his side.
“Fairy wings!” He’d collapsed as silently as a predator on the hunt, and had gone unconscious. Thankfully, he’d waited until they were hidden behind thick brambles, and no longer out in the open. If he had collapsed in the meadow, with no cover, wolves or pirates might have found him.
Found us, she thought, since she would never have left his side. The fairy pool bubbled nearby, as well as the thunder of a waterfall. She could shift and care for his wound. With no clothing with which to bind the injury, her only option would be to pull him closer to the edge, and toss the fairy pool water on the wound. She prayed that the tales she’d heard about the healing properties proved true.
She called for the shift, with the vision of Cliona in her head. Closing her doe eyes to the brilliance of the light, she waited as bones cracked, hooves turned into toes and fingers, and her naked human skin replaced the white fur. As the euphoria faded, cool composure drove her to the stag’s side.
“If I do not concentrate, I shall be no help to him.” On her knees by his side, she inspected the wound. The arrow had broken off a hand’s breadth from his fur, but the sharp point was still embedded in his shoulder. Taking care not to accidently impale her human form on his huge rack of sharp pointed antlers, she palpated the fur. A low groan came from the beast’s throat, but he didn’t move.
“I need to remove the arrow. Please don’t move.” She had no idea if he heard or understood her, and she used the quiet of the glen, amid the babbling stream beyond the pool, to calm her trembling fingers. Grabbing the broken shaft, she pulled.
The arrow slipped free, along with a splatter of blood and fur. The stag screamed, and knocked her to the ground with his shoulder. Fiona rolled free, missing both his antlers and sharp rocks, stopping beside a patch of prickly thistles. The purple flowers were budding, but their thorny stems slashed at her fragile human skin.
“Ouch!” She glanced at the stag, praying his pain wouldn’t send him galloping out of the relative safety of the glen. He struggled to all fours, hanging his head. He’d closed his big eyes, and his wounded shoulder trembled. Blood flowed from the pierced fur, and ran like a slow-moving river to puddle at his hoof.
“Can you understand me?” She got to her knees, and waited to see if he understood who she was, or what had happened. He raised his antlered head higher and opened his eyes. He saw her, but didn’t move. That was a good thing. Either he was too weak to attack a strange human, or he recognized his savior. However, could he understand what he needed to do next?
“I need you closer to the healing waters of the fairy pool. Understand?”
His eyes went wide, and their brilliant blue darkened to nearly black. When flames erupted in the center of the orbs, Fiona crawled sideways, and reached the edge of the pool. His flaming gaze followed her, and he stumbled toward her.
Putting distance between her and the wild beast, she slipped into the cool water, and kicked away from the rock-strewn edge. Suddenly fearing the beast’s intentions, she swam backwards toward the opposite side. How could she make him drink the healing water?
The majestic peaks rose behind her, and she took comfort in their shadow, while dawn’s light peeked over their tops. As the light washed over the trembling stag, and with the massive mountains at her back, her only concern was for what lay beyond the glen.
“You must drink
the water.” Treading water twenty feet from the huge stag, she waited.
What else can I do?
He either understood and would drink, or would turn and walk away. She didn’t want him to leave. The scent of fresh flowing blood filled the air. Predators might seek him out.
“I thank you, lass.”
“You speak?” A shifter? Was this Dougal beneath the fine rack, and deep red fur? Though nothing would shock her more, pleasure tingled down her spine. Please be Dougal.
“Join me, and wash away the blood?” She sensed he knew she was the one inside the white doe, and had followed her for a reason.
Fairy wings! He’d taken an arrow meant for me!
She owed him the chance to recover, and return to his family, but when he lowered his head, she feared he would collapse once more. She held her breath, silently praying for a miracle. Scottish lore spoke of the mythical properties of fairy pools. He would recover once he drank the water, or she got him to swim beside her in its crystal depths. She had to believe it true.
The shift happened so quickly, she nearly missed it all. The brilliant light made her eyes snap shut. The shock made her feet stop treading water, and she sank like a stone.
***
The shift hit him like a boulder tumbling down a mountainside. The power of the shift tore at Dougal’s fur, antlers, hooves, and wound, and the pain seared across his shoulder. Closing his eyes to the vision of a naked human female, treading water, he urged the shift toward completion before he surrendered to the throbbing threat of unconsciousness. The light faded, and the snap of bone and sinew made him open his eyes.
She was gone! Had he imagined the brown-haired lass? His shoulder ached, and he raised his human hand to test the wounded flesh. Blood coated his fingers, scenting the air. Looking down at his feet, the puddle of blood and broken arrow brought him back to his senses. He’d taken an arrow meant for the white doe.
Smolder (Clan of Dragons Book 3) Page 11