by Hazel Hunter
Gavin’s body jerked over her as he penetrated her with a slow, heavy thrust, his shaft stretching her as it plunged in. He drew back to watch her face, his own tight with hunger, and plowed as deeply as she could take him. Once planted in her, he swelled even more, his cock filling her as if their sexes had locked together. Then he moved, drawing back to thrust again, and it still felt as if he were inside her, stretching her to her limits.
“You are his mate and mine, my naked Queen,” the spirit’s voice said, rumbling. “I possess you with him.”
“Aye, we do.” Gavin watched her face as he worked in and out of her with steady, passionate strokes. “Give me your lips now. I want to taste your cries as I fack you.”
Catriona pressed her mouth to his just as a moan erupted, and he drank it from her, his hands dragging her legs up around him, his tongue sliding deep. Her breasts heaved against his chest, hot and aching, and the rasp of her nipples on his skin drew his mouth from hers.
His breath rushed against her ear as he muttered, “I want to mark you with my mouth and my hands and my seed. I want you to wear me like another skin. You’ll never be free of me, my beautiful Catriona.”
His words hurled her past pleasure and into a dark, hot explosion of bliss that stretched on and on until she cried out his name, and he took her mouth again.
Catriona clung to him, kissing him back as her body writhed under his. Still he pumped in and out of her, riding her delight until he dragged her from the trembling end into yet another release. All she knew was him and his devouring mouth and his hard, endless facking.
When his eruption came he drove into her and held himself deep, ending the kiss to fling his head back and let loose the roar of the beast. Inside her body his cock and that of the spirit’s pumped together, saturating her with creamy heat and soft, satisfied power. It spread through her like light, rushing into her womb and curling there to resonate with the purr of an exultant feline.
Deep inside her Catriona felt a glow begin, unlike any she had ever known.
Gavin collapsed, his big frame shaking, and rolled onto his back with her still impaled on him. He held her there, brushing the hair from her face and caressing her spine as they both trembled through the aftershocks.
His hand abruptly stilled, and he lifted her from him to put her on her side. He checked her from her lips to her thighs, his fingertips searching for she knew not what. Only when he touched her belly did she feel a tenderness that made her glance down.
Just above her navel a shape like a lion’s paw appeared, etched in gold and blue as if she had been inked.
“You marked me.” She gingerly touched the skinwork, which sent a pleasant tingle through her fingers, and then she saw his expression. “It doesnae hurt. ’Tis just a surprise and a very pretty one.” It wasn’t what was causing the glowing sensation, however.
“I didnae do this.” He bent his head to examine the ink more closely, and then checked his shoulder. “’Tis the same as mine, but how?”
A dim memory came back to her, and she almost cried out as she realized what the glow was, but she couldn’t tell him that now. He would think her crazed for certain.
Quickly she focused on his ink, and recalled where she had seen it before this night. “Men with skinwork like yours came to Everbay once. I dinnae ken why, but my mother said they were Pritani.”
Gavin’s expression turned grim. “Likely they came hunting the undead.”
“I wish I might tell you more of them, but they didnae stay long.” She caressed his ink with gentle fingers. “I’m glad you marked me. I like your beast very much.”
He gathered her close. “Even when I’ve told you naught of my life,” he said gruffly, “Nor my past?”
“You will when ’tis time for me to ken.” As she would, once they left the island.
“But I do have a confession,” he said, his eyes looking deeply into hers.
Her excitement dimmed. “Out with it.”
“The Mollers didnae take the fisher to Shetland,” he said, as a grin spread across his face. “’Tis a slow time since the herring have no’ yet begun to run, so Bjarke granted my want for leave.”
She traced the curved line of his mouth. “I’ve still something to tell you too, but I must first take you to meet Ennis and Senga.”
Gavin nodded. “And where do they live?”
She allowed herself a small, smug smile. “I’ll take you there in the morning. I’ve told them a little about us, and they are eager to meet you. No, dinnae scowl so. They’re the best and kindest of folk.” Her gaze shifted to the window, and what she saw there gave her a start. “Gods above. ’Tis dawn now.” She frowned at him. “Where went the night?”
He gave her a tender kiss. “I didnae notice. You kept me busy, wench.”
“Expect many nights the same.” Catriona rose to her feet, tugging him up. “Come outside, and watch the sunrise with me.”
He wrapped her in his tartan before he pulled on his trews and followed her through the door. The grass bowed, heavy with dew, and the air had the clear, cool scent of night rain. She walked with him into the clear, where she saw a perfect rainbow arcing over the island. It stretched across the pale sky with bands so vivid they seemed painted.
Her hand crept to cover the tiny glow in her belly as she turned to him. “’Tis an omen to see a full rainbow at dawn. It means that a great circle will soon be completed. What was will return to what is.”
Gavin smiled and put his arm around her. “You’ve come back to me, so I believe it.”
She saw the beauty of the colors reflected in his moonstone eyes, and knew in that moment she would love him for the rest of her days. “You’ll no’ have to chase me again, my lad.”
Chapter Sixteen
PREPARING FOR HIS journey to Everbay took Daimh most of the day. Once he had struck the bargain with Quintus Seneca, the tribune who now ruled over the undead, he waited to be sure the Gordon lad was abducted. While he felt sure Seneca would keep his word, he would not rely on it. He privately arranged for his passage, attended to the rituals necessary to strengthen his body wards, and kept close watch on Cailean Lusk and Bhaltair Flen as well. When Cailean advised him that the laird and his lady would arrive the next morning to make the jaunt to the island, he finished the last of his schemes.
At dawn Daimh went to peer in the window of Bhaltair Flen’s house. The old druid lay unmoving where he had fallen by his table, his half-eaten dinner congealed on his plate. Sensing no one else in the place, Daimh slipped inside.
“Brother Bhaltair.” He crouched down beside the man, taking care not to step in the puddle of spew by the old man’s mouth. “Can you hear me? Are you sick?” He prodded the old druid’s shoulder, and then grabbed a handful of his silver hair to lift up his head. “’Twould seem that you are. ’Tis never wise to drink from poisoned goblets.”
Daimh released Bhaltair’s head, smiling as it thunked on the floor boards. The old fool never thought to secure his doors, more the pity for him. Nimbly he went to the table to remove the goblet he’d stolen and coated with a very unpleasant potion before returning it. Taking it to the kitchen, he washed it thoroughly before filling it halfway with perry and placing it back by the unfinished meal.
“When you awake you’ll wish you were dead, but ’twill likely no’ kill you,” Daimh said as he surveyed the tableau. “I might have ended you, but you’re worth more to me alive. Either way, I cannae have one as powerful as you with us on Everbay, you see.”
Daimh went to the window, and saw the McDonnel laird, his lady and Ovate Lusk making their way toward Bhaltair’s door. Quickly he left the old druid’s house through the back, hurrying into the woods beyond it. By the time he reached the horse he’d hidden his heart pounded in his ears and he had to rest until he caught his breath. A hiss came from the tightly-secured pack on the horse’s rump, and it shook a few times.
“Patience, Anoup.” With some difficulty he mounted the gelding, and reached back
to give the pack a fond pat. “We’ll be on our way now.”
One of the few disadvantages to embracing dark magics was Daimh’s inability to use sacred oak portals for travel. The cursed trees no longer recognized him as druid, and refused to transport him. As he rode to the coast, he ignored the discomforts the horse’s quick pace caused him. Once he transcended, his physical ailments would vanish, and the powers bestowed on him by the dark god Anubis would be unlimited. He’d never again be obliged to plod about like a mortal, or bow before the arses of the druid conclave.
Once in town Daimh left his mount at a public stable and made his way to the docks. There he found the two free traders he had paid to sail him out for his rendezvous with the black ship. Both were known cutthroats who would slice their sires for the right price.
“Coin first,” the dirtier of the pair demanded, and scowled as soon as he checked inside the purse Daimh handed him. “’Tis no’ enough.”
“’Tis half your fee,” he told him. “You’ll have the rest once we reach the ship.” Seeing the other man’s snarling expression, he added, “Come, man. You ken to whom I go. If you dinnae fear the wrath of the undead, then leave me here. You willnae regret it until after the sun sets, when they come for you.”
That threat wiped the resentment from the smugglers’ faces, replacing it with craven fear. The first pocketed the purse before jabbing his finger at a decrepit-looking fisher with a reinforced hull and nets and traps disguising its hidden cargo niches.
Daimh sat at the front of the boat to enjoy the rush of the wind as they sailed west from the docks. Land-locked as he had been for the last twenty years, he had missed the cold saltiness of the sea air. He had already decided that once he’d finished the ritual he would build his stronghold on Everbay.
Returning to his old home would bring back unfortunate memories, of course. The endless bickering with Tavish, who had been as short-sighted as he had been undeserving. Isela’s lovely face and solemn eyes, ever watching him. He knew she’d chosen his brother over him because Tavish had filled her head with lies. For years he’d pretended to accept their bonding. He’d even celebrated the birth of their brat.
He’d waylaid Isela on his last visit to the island, catching her as she walked back from gathering in the woods. He’d offered her his heart and every comfort and luxury she could wish for, if only she would admit her mistake in choosing the wrong Haral, and come away with him.
I’ve sensed how you want me, Brother, she’d said at last. But I’ve never encouraged you by look, word or deed. There is a darkness in you that soon shall grow beyond any hope of redemption. If you dinnae turn from your path, ’twill be the ruin of you.
Then turn me, my love, Daimh had begged. For I cannae go on without you.
She’d smiled sadly. You lie to yourself now, Brother. My heart belongs to my husband and our daughter. You may lust for me, but you love only power.
Such had been his disappointment that Daimh had struck her, hard enough to knock her to the ground, and then raged over her. Do you no’ ken who I am? What I will become? I can give you everything.
She had wiped the blood from her mouth on the back of her hand as she got to her feet, and new wariness had darkened her eyes. May the gods forgive you. She’d continued on to the village, never once looking back at him.
The unspoken words she left in her wake had taunted him: For never shall I.
His lovely Isela had decided the fate of the Moon Wake tribe that night. He’d thought back on her refusal when he’d found the Anubis ritual scroll. Once he’d deciphered its meaning, he’d known how he would take revenge against his tribe. He’d risked his life to strike that first bargain with the undead, but it had been worth it. It had felt so good to see the look on his brother’s face when Daimh had dispelled the barrier and marched in with his monstrous army. He’d watched the undead bathe in the blood and flesh of every weak, mewling druid on the island. Daimh had intended to violate Isela personally, but the Romans had found her dead beside his brother, with the blades they had used still buried in their hearts.
Their suicides had distracted him from looking for their brat. Indeed, once the undead left and the sun rose, the carnage left behind was such that Daimh hardly recognized any of the bodies. He’d never expected his niece of seven years to successfully elude the Ninth Legion. When the Anubis ritual had failed to change him, he had gone on a rampage, searching every inch of the island for any survivors, and finding nothing but more corpses. He had doubted the dark magic—and himself—when he should have known Isela’s facking brat was responsible.
The black ship appeared on the horizon some hours later, and anchored as the free traders’ boat approached it. Daimh slipped on gloves made on bespelled hide, retrieved his pack, and soothed Anoup’s agitation by patting the side.
“’Tis come for ye,” the filthier smuggler said and planted himself in front of Daimh, and brandished an impressive-looking dagger. “We’ll be having our due. Now.”
“Of course.” Daimh smiled cheerfully as he reached into the outer pouch of his pack.
The smuggler snatched away the large stack of coins he produced, and shoved them in the hands of his partner. “Drop the rest,” he ordered, emphasizing his intent with a jab of the blade toward Daimh’s belly. “Then get the fack off our boat.”
It always paid to hire the untrustworthy, Daimh thought as he gently placed the pack on the deck between them. They were so incessantly predictable. For a moment he considered opening the flap to show the idiot the deadly contents. But touching the coins with their bare hands had already put the curse to work. The large blade and the rest of Daimh’s payment clattered to the deck as both men howled and clawed at their blackening hands.
“Do give my best to the great god Sekhmet,” he told the smugglers as they both collapsed, writhing and frothing at the mouth. He chuckled as he retrieved his pack. “’Twill cheer her as she takes you to be slaughtered by her demon butchers.”
No stranger to boats, Daimh guided the fisher the rest of the way to come alongside the black ship, and stepped off onto the rope ladder. Two mortal crewmen helped him onto the deck, and one made as if to take his case.
“No, lad,” he told him before he made his way to the stern-faced man at the helm. “You may weigh anchor and continue on now, Captain.”
The man shouted the order as Daimh returned to the railing, and glanced down to see the two piles of black ooze that was all that remained of the smugglers. Daimh never left behind any witnesses to his dark endeavors, and anyone who found the boat would think it abandoned.
The tribune had not named the place they were to rendezvous, but some hours later Daimh recognized it as they approached the Isle of Staffa.
Daimh marveled at the new tribune’s ingenious solution to safeguarding the undead. In his memory no mortals had ever settled on the small island, which offered little in the way of soil for crop-growing. Ships also gave the place a wide berth, as Staffa’s strong resemblance to a half-sunken giant’s temple made sailors uneasy.
It made an ideal haven for the blood-drinkers, however. The enormous sea caves offered complete protection from the sun’s rays, and he felt certain that the Romans had tunneled their way even deeper into the rock beneath the surface to create their lair. The legion’s black ships sailed mostly at night, and ran without lights, rendering them virtually invisible on the seas.
Daimh felt as excited as a lad at his first ritual. When Cailean and the McDonnels found Bhaltair poisoned, they would go in search of him to assure he had not been harmed. Then they would find the note he had left in his house. Leaving word that he would meet them on the island that evening had been a particularly masterful touch. Thinking Daimh had gone straight into the arms of the legion there would spur them to make the jaunt at once. Believing his son in the hands of the undead, Cailean would depend on the laird to take charge. Once Daimh had both men on the island he would bring the legion and the boy. The lot of them could burn or drown or
run. He didn’t care as long as that lass—the last member of his tribe—was there.
Never again would he need gulp poppy juice to ease his pain.
The ship slowed as the crew dropped anchor, and the captain came to join Daimh. “My master and his men will board tonight, and then we shall set sail for Everbay.”
Chapter Seventeen
GAVIN EXPECTED CATRIONA to take him to the boat she’d been using to travel to the island, but instead of heading for the shore once they were packed she led him down the path to the falls.
“Do you leave from the other side of the cliffs?” he asked once they’d passed the cascade and stopped at a fork in the trail. “And dinnae tell me that you climb them.”
She chuckled. “I dinnae have to. Now, you mustnae ask more questions, or ’twill spoil the surprise.”
The trek ended with the two of them standing in front of a cliff that towered at least fifteen meters overhead. Gavin caught her arm as she made as if to walk into the rocky face, and then saw half her body vanish from sight.
“Another hidden entrance?” he asked, and when she nodded he gripped her hand and followed her into the narrow gap he hadn’t seen. Just inside the entry a heavy curtain of flowered vines covered what lay within.
“Falling vine,” Catriona told him as she swept aside the mass. “’Twill grow anywhere, so my tribe planted it to make a door of sorts.”
Gavin went with her into the tunnel behind the vines. Judging by its symmetry and the marks left by the excavation work, her people had spent months, maybe years digging through the cliff. Strange symbols had been etched into the walls in two parallel lines, and had been punctuated with spiral shapes sprouting small leaves.
For the first time since he’d come to Everbay he felt uneasy. Where had he seen that image before?
“’Tis just outside the passage,” Catriona told him, gesturing to the lighted end of the tunnel. When she glanced at his face she squeezed his hand. “Dinnae worry. I’ve left and come to the island so many times this way, I cannae count them. I’ve never once come to harm, I promise.”