by Diana Duncan
“Dammit, focus, Delaney.”
She swiped a dirt-smeared hand across her wet face. Forcing stiff, achy muscles to move, she clambered to her feet. “I am!”
“Not enough. Where’s your Power?”
“If I knew, I’d use it!” She’d been trying to summon her Power all afternoon, but it seemed to be MIA.
“I suggest you find it.”
As he lunged, she spun into the defense-turned-surprise-attack he’d been teaching her. She kicked out and attempted to leg-sweep him, but he pivoted, snagged her ankle, and tossed her to the ground.
Again.
She lay wheezing. When she could gasp in a breath, she spat an oath usually reserved for speeding tickets. “Are you trying to cripple me?”
“I’m trying to save your life,” he gritted. “Get up. Come at me again, Power on this time.”
Delaney suggested a creative solo exercise he could do with his Powers.
Stabbing his fingers through his black mane, Rowan stalked to the edge of the bluff. He turned his broad back to her, crossed his arms and stared out at the restless translucent green waves. “Am I a sodding bad teacher, or do you just suck at this?”
Suck? She rolled over onto her stomach, pushed to her hands and knees. Holding her breath, she crawled stealthily across cold, soaked grass, timing the ocean’s roar to conceal every infuriatingly painful motion. Each slow creep built her ire.
Right behind him, she grasped his ankles, yanked with all her might, and slapped him with a rush of Power.
Rowan yelled in Gaelic. His arms windmilled, and he fell flat on his back. She leapt on him in a body-slam. Air whooshed from his lungs. Sprawled on top of him, she fisted her fingers in his hair and thunked the back of his head onto the grass.
He blinked dazedly as she rammed her forearm against his throat, holding him down with roiling Power. “I don’t think I suck.”
He tried to speak, merely croaked. After his face turned a lovely shade of blue, she slowly counted to five before she released the pressure on his windpipe.
His turn to wheeze. He sputtered. Color flowed back into his cheeks. Then he burst into deep, rich laughter. “That’s what I’m talking about, sweetheart.”
Her gaze locked with his. “I got you good. Admit it.”
Mouths inches apart, their warm breaths merged, curling into white vapor in the cool air. Raindrops sparkled on Rowan’s sooty lashes and glistened in his hair. Heat radiated from his big body, the smell of damp earth mingling with the erotic scent of hot, wet man.
“Aye, you got me,” he murmured. His heartbeat galloped against her breasts. “What are you going do with me, now?”
Her own pulse hammered in her ears. All she had to do was lower her mouth a fraction. Touch her lips to his. Nibble. Taste. Drink him in like a long, refreshing draught.
Her tongue licked her lower lip in anticipation. His breath hitched as green swirled into his irises, and he hardened beneath her.
Delaney swallowed. What the hell was she doing?
“Why am I fighting bare-handed?” She scrambled off him to sit in the grass. “Don’t I get a big impressive sword, like yours?”
Rowan propped himself on his elbows, and the movement drew her glance to the prominent bulge at his fly. His wickedly sexy grin flashed. “My sword stands ready, willing and able to do battle for M’lady.”
Very able.
Obviously, she hadn’t fully taken to heart Rule One.
She widened her eyes, all innocence. “You want me waving your weapon at Balor?”
That sobered him up, fast. “Never let your weapon be captured. A serious wound from your own weapon is always fatal.”
He surged to his feet, loose-limbed and graceful even after being knocked flat. “And you won’t be engaging Balor.” She didn’t have to infiltrate his mind to read the grim determination on his face. Because I plan to get there first.
Apprehension hollowed her insides. Balor was a brutal opponent.
Rowan offered his hand. When she placed hers in it, he tugged her upright. “You’ve finally tapped into your Powers. Try to summon your weapon.”
The better she got at fighting, the better she could back him up…and the better his chances of surviving. She squared sore shoulders. “How?”
He lifted his right hand. “Ni Dìobair!” he called, and the sword of ice appeared.
She admired the coldly glittering blade. “I saw you receive that in the vision of your eighteenth birthday. ‘Never Forsake.’ Do I say that?”
“Nay. ‘Tis my war cry, to call forth my weapon. You were given your own on your quest. That part was blocked to me, ‘twas for you alone.”
“I didn’t get anything of the sort.”
“Aye, you did.” He twirled his sword, reflecting prisms against the gray sky. “Yours won’t be in Gaelic, but something of personal meaning.”
“Honestly, Rowan, I don’t…” She grinned. “Oh.”
“You remember now?”
“Yep.” She thrust up her hand, sang out the refrain from “Blaze of Glory.” The elegant garnet-studded hilt slid into her palm. The blade didn’t light up, but neither did she in this realm.
Rowan chuckled. “That’s different.”
Her grin spread. “That’s Bon Jovi.”
“Okay, then.” He swung his sword at her. “Show me your form.”
As afternoon lengthened into early evening, he coached her in sword-fighting basics. Because of her kick-boxing practice, she was better with hand-to-hand combat than the weapon. Which wasn’t saying much. But Rowan assured Delaney her proficiency would increase with every practice.
She only hoped she’d get a lot more dress rehearsal prior to the final act…which was approaching far faster than she’d like.
Delaney swung at him, missed for the third time in a row. Heaving a sigh, she drooped. “I’m soaked, sweaty, muddy, and my arms and legs quit functioning forty minutes ago.”
His glance appraised the darkening clouds. “No wonder. ‘Tis late…and it just occurred to me we skipped lunch.” He showed her how to invisibly sheathe her weapon before they trekked into the cabin.
She propped her bruised, leaden body against the doorjamb. “I’m taking a bath before I eat. Don’t wait for me, grab whatever you want out of the fridge or freezer.”
“I’ll rebuild the fire, then I’m going down to the sea to bathe.”
“You’ll freeze!”
“Nay. The ocean will warm for me.”
“Okay. Right.” She trudged down the hallway and into the bedroom, where she rummaged in the closet for a pale blue thermal top and dark blue flannel pj pants dotted with stars. Carrying the change of clothing, she walked into the bathroom, then stopped short.
The wall-sconces and heater glowed, and raspberry-scented bubbles frothed to the top of the bathtub. Rowan turned from the vanity where he’d just lit the white pillar candle nestled in beach sand and shells inside a large hurricane jar.
She smiled at him. He must have used his Power to so quickly fill the huge tub. “Bless you, Rowan.”
“Enjoy, you deserve it. You worked hard today. Bloody good job, Delaney.” He shook out the match, then tossed her a return smile on his way out the door.
She stripped, his praise easing her aches better than the steaming water as she sank into heaven. Stretched out full-length with her neck resting on the sloped rim, Delaney closed her eyes.
She must have dozed off, because next thing she knew, she blinked and stared up at the blurred planked ceiling. A quick glance at the vanity clock told her she’d been soaking over an hour. Yet the water had stayed comfortably hot—no doubt Rowan’s doing.
One minute her Mage could be a total PITA…and the next, heart-tuggingly thoughtful.
No longer quite as stiff or achy, she climbed out. She took a super-fast shower to wash her hair, just as quickly blow-dried it. Dressed in snug pj’s, she padded down the hallway to the living area.
Rowan stood across the room in prof
ile, staring out the kitchen window into the night. Every taut plane of his handsome features revealed raw, exposed emotion. Intensity darkened his eyes as his hands tightly clenched the counter’s edge.
The naked longing on his face stole her breath.
Then he looked at her, and his welcoming smile banished the vulnerable moment. “Hungry?”
“Starved!” shot out too fast to snatch it back. She winced. “Sorry, so sorry! I meant—”
“No need, lass. It was what it was. All that matters is I survived.” He yanked the curtains closed, then swiveled to tend steaming pans on the stove. “I heard you showering and fixed your dinner.”
“I told you not to wait, you must be st— so hungry yourself.” She hurried to his side and saw a pot of bubbling canned chicken soup, and a frying pan with four sizzling grilled cheddar, bacon, and tomato sandwiches.
“I didn’t. This is second helpings for me. There’s salad in the fridge and I found a homemade unbaked pie in the freezer, which I put into the oven about an hour ago. Not sure what sort.”
“Any pie is good pie.” She opened the oven door a crack and sniffed warm, fruity fragrance. “Mmm. Strawberry rhubarb.”
“Sweet and sassy.” He playfully hip-bumped her out of his way to flip over the sandwiches. “I fancy that.”
I’ll just bet you do. “The crust looks done.”
“Got it.” He extracted the pie tin while she dished up her dinner. He filled another sandwich plate and bowl of soup for himself. “You’re a brilliant baker, Delaney.”
“Let’s eat by the fire tonight.” She carried her food to the living room. “I’m not the chef, it’s Archer. He spends weeks here by himself.” At least she’d assumed he was alone, but who knew? “He hikes, swims, paints, picks berries. And cooks.”
“Eh, Guardians.” Rowan set his loaded plate and brimming bowl on the coffee table before joining her on the sofa. “Enigmatic lot. One minute rolling out pastry, and the next, attempting to sever your jugular.”
She bit into a slightly charred sandwich, the most delicious meal she’d tasted in ages. Chewed, swallowed. “If Guardians aren’t Mages, or angels, what are they, then?”
“Good question. Although we fight on the same side—most of the time—‘tis a wary alliance. Their origins are a mystery and they keep it that way. Their Powers sometimes include transmogrification. The Morrigan appeared as a raven, and her lover could transform into a massive Irish wolfhound. So there is speculation Guardians are rare, favored descendants of their son.”
The memory of Archer’s raptor-like wings resurged. She choked on her soup. “Are we talking…” Cough. “…were-animals?”
He cocked an eyebrow. “Guardians don’t care for that comparison either.”
“But they can change into different, um, non-human forms?”
“Some can, aye.”
“You promised to tell me about your origins when we started training. I can’t think of a better time.”
He nodded. “I will relate our history as ‘twas passed on to me by my father.”
Still eating, she settled into the cushions in anticipation.
Pride and passion animated Rowan’s face. “Live now the Sacred Legend, Delaney Morgan…as blessed few have the privilege to know it.”
Vertigo hit Delaney, and her essence rushed backward, experiencing every detail as if she were living it.
“In times before the ancients, the oppressed Celtic tribes cried out to the divine realm for deliverance. The Creator heard their pleas and sent a vast cloud from the Otherworld carrying a host of the Tuatha Dé Danann, a clan of fierce warriors known as the Shining Ones.
“There on the enchanted green isles of Erin, the Tuatha Dé used our alliance with nature’s elements to unleash and wield ancient Magic bound within the hallowed Earth. The Tuatha Dé Danann became protectors of mankind and fought alongside Erin’s people.
“This enraged Balor, king of the Fomorii, whose demon race of barbaric giants had subjugated the Celts in slavery for over a decade. Worse, Balor reveled in consuming the souls of their firstborn children every year at sundown on October thirty-first—the eve of the formerly joyous Celtic New Year festival of Samhain.
“Aided by the powerful Shining Ones, the tribes of Erin united in rebellion and refused to continue to sacrifice their children, and demanded their freedom. The Fomorii launched a merciless attack, igniting the First Sidhe War. Centuries of violent battles ensued before the Great Queen Morrigan, our fearless red-haired goddess of prophecy and war, finally rallied our armies to victory.
“The Tuatha Dé’s ruling Cabal voted to bestow mercy upon our conquered enemies, though Morrigan warned against the folly. Rather than execute Balor and his monstrous soldiers, the Cabal banished them to a bespelled realm beneath the ocean, under the watchful eye of the sea god, Manannán Mac Lir.
“Queen Morrigan’s fiercest champion was the most feared and admired of all warriors, Cuchulainn. He was favored by the Creator and Gifted with a keen mind and undefeatable prowess, in return for an oath, or geis, that he would never betray his fealty to the Queen. Unstoppable when his battle rage descended, Cuchulainn’s courage and certain victories struck dread into the heart of his foes.
“Morrigan and Cuchulainn fought side-by-side and fell deeply in love. At nightfall they could be seen hunting together in their dual forms, Morrigan a giant raven and Cuchulainn a massive Irish wolfhound.
“First a hearty son, then a bold, copper-tressed daughter blessed their union, and an era of peace blessed the tribes. Their children grew, and brought forth children of their own.
“Meanwhile, Balor plotted his revenge from his prison beneath the ocean. His mistress, the Dark Sorceress Ceard, who was Gifted with deception, seduced and beguiled the sea god into calming the stormy waves over their prison long enough to allow the demon horde to escape. Balor, Ceard and the Fomorian army boarded a vast fleet of Viking ships already sailing toward Erin to invade and conquer.
“So began the Second, and bloodiest, Sidhe war. Queen Morrigan and the Tuatha Dé held our ground against formidable odds during more decades of ruthless warfare. Until once again, Samhain Eve was at hand…and Balor’s fury at being denied his blood sacrifices raged, inciting wildfires atop every hillside.
“Balor and Ceard devised a vile plan built on Ceard’s Power of deceit. The night before the pivotal battle, Ceard summoned all her Dark sorcery and twisted her features into a mirror of the Morrigan’s. She compelled Morrigan into a deep sleep and then visited Cuchulainn in the tent where he planned his strategy. Ceard seduced him, causing him to unwittingly forfeit his geis, then slithered back to Balor’s bed.
“The two huge armies clashed on the morning of Samhain Eve. The fight was so vicious, the destruction so great, charred ruins spilled even into the vast Abyss between Earth and the Otherworld. Cuchulainn, Morrigan and their offspring fought valiantly. However, Cuchulainn had lost his Powers. His son spied him surrounded by slashing demons and charged to his aid, but he was too late. Cuchulainn fell on the field of honor with Balor’s tri-pronged spear piercing his heart.
“The enemy forces overpowered Queen Morrigan and the few surviving Tuatha Dé Danann, who fled into the hills. The distraught Queen couldn’t reach her husband to perform the death rite that would send his essence safely into the Otherworld, so she flew forth as a raven to guard him from the demons attempting to steal his soul. Ceard then cast a spell trapping Morrigan’s essence permanently inside the raven form. Forever separating her from her husband.
“Broken-hearted, Morrigan beseeched the Creator to be allowed to remain in the Abyss and protect and guide fallen warriors into the Otherworld, thus enabling her to occasionally catch glimpses of her beloved. The Creator took pity on her and granted her petition.
“The Tuatha Dé knew Cuchulainn couldn’t have died in battle unless he’d broken his geis. Our most powerful Mage scried his rune stones, and from a portal in the Abyss, Morrigan watched the vision of Ceard’s treacher
y with her husband. Her wrath colder than the waters of the Celtic Sea, Morrigan could do naught but bide her time.
“Humans populated the earth, vastly outnumbering the Tuatha Dé Danann and the demon hordes. The demon hordes grew, boldly preying upon mortals. Though far less in number than our enemies, the Tuatha Dé wielded our ancient Magic to defend humans.
“Two bands of elite warriors arose to protect humankind. Guardians and Enforcers. Guardians are a different, secretive race. Some wield knives of lightning and shields of the sun. Their Legion answers to a Commander, and they specialize in protection. Their dual forms are visible only if they desire to show them. Guardians keep to themselves and do not willingly work with each other, or Enforcers.
“Enforcers are the most powerful Mages born of Tuatha Dé Danann bloodlines. They must undergo years of rigorous training by a mentor. If they survive the perilous initiation that proves them worthy, they receive a Magic weapon that enhances their individual Gift. During initiation, they assimilate within themselves all of the ancestral memories—and all of the powers—of previous Mages from their lineage.
“Enforcers form covert assassin squads who hunt and kill demons, and they track and vanquish Rogues—Supernaturals who’ve gone Dark and abuse Power. They answer to a Clan Chieftain, who answers to the elected Mage Cabal. Enforcers have hidden secrets beyond imagination, which they do not usually entrust to anyone, even other Mages on their strike forces.
“Guardians and Enforcers appear to be men and women…but none are fully human. They can be killed, but not as easily as mortals. All live extraordinarily long lives as measured in human years. The more Powers they gain, the more slowly they age and the harder they are to eliminate.
“As the eons passed, Magic fell from grace and practitioners were persecuted. To preserve the Supernatural races, the Tuatha Dé’s Cabal cast spellbound laws prohibiting its use within sight of mortals without causing Discord. Supernatural races ultimately learned to pass as mortals and avoid detection. Some intermingled with each other, and some with humans, creating mixed descendants. All Supernatural beings went into hiding, still waging endless war.