Remnants of Magic (The Sidhe Collection (Urban Fantasy))

by S. Ravynheart

  But now…

  He had to labor to bring such devotion to mind. The Fade weakened him mercilessly. The darkness restored his strength. It renewed his sense of power. Reminded him of passions. It seduced him with lusts he longed to indulge.

  Even when he resisted, the lure remained ever present to succumb fully to the beast. Like the pressure of arousal against the constraint of good sense.

  The door opened and Lugh lifted his gaze, taking in the woman before him. The dark sweats hung comfortably loose upon her petite frame, disguising her more tender features. The letters USMC appeared in bold strokes upon her chest. His curiosity did not extend far enough to lead him to inquire as to what those letters meant.

  Even for the early hour, London appeared intense and focused. Far too alert, as if she’d drank an unseemly amount of coffee. Her dark eyes lit upon Lugh with a question she didn’t ask. Not that she needed to, for he knew the weight of her heart, and of the secrets she hoped to harbor from him.

  Devious, but nothing compared to the spinning of ‘truths’ that the Seelie could weave.

  “I’ve returned, as I told you I would.” Lugh reached out and stroked her hair in a simple sign that she would interpret as affection, but served another goal. Connection. He’d barely begun her conditioning when he left to deal with the problems that troubled the wood elves of Adara Grove. With time and correct handling, he could mold this human to his purposes.

  Or you could kill her, and be justified in doing so.

  The beast purred that thought into the stream of his consciousness. But the cat only peered out at him with its shining emerald eyes. Its sleek sable body remained curled upon itself, paws tucked under. It teased him with the thought that echoed through his mind. Making him wonder if perhaps that wasn’t the better course.

  London touched a hesitant finger to his cheek and drew it back. A smear of blood glistened on her fingertip. “A little worse for wear?”

  The crimson glisten brought a wicked grin tugging at his lips. His body, and the beast, still hummed with the pleasure of violence. “Not mine.” Leaning closer, he debated stealing the blood from her lovely, tapered finger. But if he drew her flesh into his mouth, he’d surely bite her.

  And wouldn’t that frighten her in such an amusing way?

  Unable to resist a tempted grin, he inquired of London, “May I enter?” He shouldn’t have had to ask permission. Accepting her as his companion implied certain conventions. The first was that all she possessed became his. Thus, she had no private space to which he need ask permission to enter. But he allowed her this chance to invite him.

  Backing away, she rubbed the blood between her forefinger and thumb. “Then whose blood is it?”

  “A werewolf’s.” Lugh crossed the threshold. Shrugging out of his jacket and shoulder pack, he surveyed the space. Directly to his right a narrow hallway led to a bedroom and bathroom. Before him stretched a living room designed for comfort with deep cushioned furnishings and blond wood and glass tables. To the right of the living room opened a dining room that functioned like an office, with papers and machinery covering all the surfaces of the table. Tucked in behind the dining room, a small kitchen hummed with appliances. “Selena spoke of your vocation. You track misplaced persons and items?”

  London followed him as he moved about, more interested in his casual inspection than in what he’d asked. “Yeah. Freelance work mostly.”

  As she spoke, her arms crossed protectively over her chest, she watched him peruse the papers strewn about. Clearly, his curiosity caused the tense manner in which she clutched herself. Lugh understood why. Most of the parchments appeared to convey the largely mythical accounts of Lugh’s own supposed history. “Personal research?”

  “Just educating myself.” London began stacking the papers, clearing the table. Hiding the evidence.

  If she’d hoped to discover something consequential from such documents, she’d be disappointed. A rueful smile tugged up his lips. “And do you feel enlightened?”

  “Not especially.” She deposited the pile onto the seat of one of the chairs. “There isn’t much accurate information about the fey floating around.” London tried to defuse the apparent focus of her inquires, but not cleverly enough to fool a Seelie. She’d been investigating him specifically, not the broader spectrum of the fey in general.

  But Lugh allowed her to believe that he’d accept her redirection. “Nor would we wish it otherwise.”

  Within him, the beast stirred. Stretching forth its paws, it debated about rising. The woman’s guile roused its attention, for this wasn’t the first time she’d attempted to deceive him. You should kill her. Be done with her.

  Ignoring the beast, Lugh slung his jacket over the back of one of the dining room chairs. His fingers brushed over the tears from the werewolf’s claws. Not so horribly damaging that the jacket couldn’t still be functional. From a pocket he extracted a small vile of clear liquid that contained another dose of the dark magic. He slipped it into the hip pocket of his jeans, keeping it closer on hand. Just having it near reassured him, as if it acted like a talisman against the encroaching Fade.

  The shoulder pouch he rested upon a clean patch of table. He extracted the parchments from within. “It is the lack of accurate information that makes the work I shall tax you with a challenge. These are the only documents I have depicting known relics from the first realm of fey. Easily over ten millennia old. If they still exist, finding them is essential. Do you think your tracking skills might locate some of them?”

  London shifted through the pages. “I can check with some of my contacts, but most won’t work cheap.”

  On its feet now, the beast paced within him. Poisonous green eyes fixed on London. Impatient. Knowing its chance would come and watching for it.

  Willing himself to focus equally on the conversation and self-control, Lugh stated, “Cost is not an obstacle.” From the satchel, he drew forth stacks of promissory notes wrapped in bundles.

  “Holy…” London drew closer, within easy reach, as she stared at the notes in astonishment. “Where did you get all that?”

  Lugh felt the cat’s muscles tense, coiling to pounce.

  “Do you know what tribute is most commonly gifted to the god of the sun?” Lugh grew outwardly still as inwardly he raised a hand toward the beast, willing it to be calm. But controlling it and conducting a conversation divided his focus. “Gold. My temples runneth over. I know a dragon with allies who converts it into the common currency.”

  “And you’re just going to run around toting a bag of money with you?” London flipped her thumb along the stacks of notes, as if confirming that they were all, indeed, genuine.

  “Hardly. You are going to use it to see to the expenses, purchase supplies, and allot yourself a generous allowance.”

  Within him, the beast glided its silken fur against his outstretched palm, stroking itself against him. And with the sensual caresses, their division blurred. The beast rose up within Lugh with a seductive fury that aroused him.

  As he’d done with the cat, Lugh stretched out a hand to lightly caress down London’s short, dark locks.

  Then, possessed by the dark corruption, he snatched her by her hair.

  The beast surged within, and Lugh stayed its attack through sheer force of will. “No more freelance work. Particularly with wizards or Changelings.”

  The fear glistening in London’s pretty dark eyes made him hard. “So Kev told you?”

  Twisting his wrist, the beast forced London to angle her head away. To expose her pale, vulnerable throat to him. “What he did not tell me, I suspected.”

  Bite her. Tear open her throat.

  Lugh stared, so tempted his mouth watered for the taste of her blood.

  Between what the wood elf revealed to him and what Lugh had overheard at the vampire club, he knew the taint of London’s past. This woman who once fancied herself the ‘huntress of the Sidhe.’ Cohort to vampires and werewolves. Servant to wizards and p
redatory fey.

  Kill her!

  And Lugh struggled to recall why he shouldn’t.

  Chapter Three

  Lips parting, Lugh sucked in a breath through his teeth. The beast craved to close the distance. To wrap his jaws around the muscle of her neck. To bite down with force enough to rip open her throat and free the spurt of blood.

  If he’d not have serviced that need just an hour earlier with Selena, the knife-edge of that urge couldn’t have been countered. But he’d bitten the vampire as much as she’d bitten him. He’d sunk his teeth into her flesh and made love smeared in their mingled blood. He could still detect the scent of blood and sex lingering on his skin.

  And this human…

  What was her name again? It slipped his mind. Like it mattered not.

  But it did matter.

  Lugh reached beyond the haze of animal desire into memory.

  London. Her name was London.

  And Selena valued her.

  The vampire had sworn him to protect London from the Unseelie.

  If Lugh meant to skate this slim edge between the Seelie he was and the dark force rising within him, he’d need her. The vampire gave him an outlet. A place where his combined lusts for blood and violence and sex could find welcome release. She’d not deny him, nor was she too fragile to endure. A guiltless indulgence. Where he could fancy himself still in control.

  Still a Seelie.

  And rending this woman whom he’d accepted as his companion wasn’t Seelie.

  Lugh’s grip relaxed. “But all that happened before.”

  Breathing deep, he cast aside the violent craving. “When you were without guidance.”

  The beast retreated, slinking away into the shadows of his mind where it would once more bide its time. “When you did not understand your need or the consequences of your actions.”

  He released her hair. “By becoming my druidess, you shall be remade, with a new life and a fresh start.” Forcing a smile far more relaxed than he felt, Lugh stroked her hair one final time, soothing the hurt he’d caused, before drawing back his hand. “But, I require complete devotion and dedication from my druids, if you are still seeking to pledge yourself to me.”

  “Right.” London backed away from him, watchful and uncertain. After a moment, she found a cloth bag and collected the money, which she secreted behind a colorful array of bottles and cans beneath her sink. When she returned to the table, she rubbed her hands on her pants nervously.

  He’d frightened her, but she didn’t flee from him. Lugh reconsidered this human. When Selena gave her to him, she assured Lugh that the lass came with many useful talents. Surely, bravery was chief among them. No doubt working with vampires and such, she’d been handled more roughly and yet didn’t slink away, crushed by her fear.

  And she handled an auto with far more mastery than Willem. Denied the convenience of teleportation, having her to chauffeur him about was preferable to hitching rides or walking all over Ireland.

  Which was why he’d brought the necklace with him when he returned to her.

  In the haze of the beast’s desires, he’d all but forgotten the necklace and his reason for carrying it.

  Lugh drew out the chain from the breast pocket of the jacket. “Are you ready?” The pendant dangled before him, glinting with golden perfection. He’d crafted it ages ago. The knotwork of enchantment still held true. Only the slightest adjustment and it would serve his purpose.

  “Ready for what?” Those dark eyes of hers didn’t fully trust him. But she needed him, captivated by the Touch as she was.

  And that was the beauty of the Touch and the Sidhe-druid bond, dependency that, when shaped properly, could breed an intense loyalty. “In ages past, complicated ceremonial customs accompanied the making of a druid. Severe times deny us such luxuries, but believe it not that it means any less of an honor or a responsibility.” Lugh fastened the golden chain around her neck. “The chain is enchanted and can not be snapped nor drawn over your head, save by your own efforts or mine.”

  With the fastening of the chain, Lugh gathered the loops of his enchantment that dangled from the clasp. As his fingers glided over the necklace, and her smooth skin, he snatched each of the loose loops of the magicraft weaving. And when he reached the pendant, he bound the final linkages. “With this token, I shall always know where to find you. When you invoke my name with urgency, either in thought or aloud, I shall feel your need for me and respond when I am able. This is for use only in dire times, you understand.”

  She shivered beneath his caress. “I understand.”

  Gathering her face in his hands, Lugh cast his thoughts back to the vows he’d administered to his druids hundreds of years ago. “Pledge these words to me, if you mean to become my devout druidess.” Then he Touched her, giving to her through the magic the words she must speak.

  London’s gaze locked with his, the magic of the Touch feeding her endless craving. “I pledge to you, Lugh Samildanach, that I shall preserve your secrets. I shall honor you above all others and never slander you nor speak to others of our grievances. I shall be the shield at your back and the staff by your side. I pledge to you my life, both in my living and in my dying, always in service to you. Friendship, love, and loyalty, such is my eternal promise.”

  And once she’d given her vows, Lugh responded, “With my symbol, I have marked you. With my magic, I have claimed you. And with your pledge, I have made you my druidess. And so you are an initiate of my temple and of my order, as well as my companion.”

  Not since the Sidhe drove the wizards from Ireland in the age of myths and legends had he taken a druid into his service. He’d quite forgotten the sensation.

  Lugh bent down and kissed her lightly on the mouth. As he Touched her, he sealed the enchantment he’d woven into the necklace, binding it to her and to himself. And with the magic, a new awareness awoke within his mind.

  A resonance.

  An echo.

  Like a distant chime or a ripple across the still surface of a pond.

  He felt her.

  Nowhere in the world could she venture, and he not know where she hid. The enchantment was small, and with time he’d adjust so that he’d not continuously be aware of it unless he called it to mind, but for now, it pinged with singular keenness.

  He withdrew from the kiss and stared down at her. A quiet resonated within him for the first time in recent memory.

  The beast turned its back on the scene. Not gone. Never gone. But refusing to even witness the connection.

  As he broke the skin contact, and the Touch, London dropped back a step. She knew not what he felt. She’d no awareness of him as he held of her. A little unsteady in the wake of what transpired, she said, “Here. Let me scan those images in and do a search. See what I can come up with.”

  She settled herself before a piece of machinery on the dining room table and touched it. The black face of it flashed with light and images that moved like a scrying mirror. It surprised him not to see that she had such a thing. Humans of late seemed to have discovered how to enchant objects with their own type of pseudo-magic, and scrying mirrors of various sizes appeared to be almost everywhere. London began weaving her magic with considerable speed and confidence. The details of how she executed her craft mattered not to him, only that she seemed adept at doing so.

  Leaving her to her toils, he collected the journal Willem had given him to glance over. One of the few the dragon had been willing to part with, which discussed what the dragons knew about fey magicraft. It was odd to read something he’d always thought of as artistry presented in such a clinical manner.

  But he meant not to truly read it, only give the appearance of distraction. Lugh kicked off his shoes and settled his long frame along the length of London’s sofa. It wasn’t more than a minute before the book found a perch on the coffee table and his fatigued eyes demanded that he close them. And in the quiet, he just felt the awareness of London.

  And the beast’s silent
scheming.

  Chapter Four

  Though he longed to allow himself the luxury of a deep slumber, he could not risk such vulnerability in this place, with this human. So he compromised with the warrior’s sleep of allowing his body to rest while remaining aware of his surroundings. Feeling always within him the dual sensations of the beast and of his druidess nearby.

  After an unmeasured time, London finally stirred. Through barely opened eyes and sharp hearing, he noted her movements in the next room, and then her soft-footed approach. She paused a few steps from him, watching him. Lugh waited to see what she might do, as she may judge him helpless and take her advantage, but she did nothing untoward. Only stared at him.

  The beast raised its feline head; ears forward, eyes slit open. Debating.

  Lugh reached out to London, wordlessly inviting her to join him. The offer was calculated. The thin awareness of her was an unexpected touchstone. A beacon in the distance.

  As he felt certain she would, London accepted his hand.

  He rolled over, tugging at her and moving her about as he wished. She did not resist him. A sign of her acceptance of him and his dominion over her.

  The beast flexed, stretching its lithe body.

  Lugh drew her down, turning London about so she lay with her back to him, and he embraced her close. With his body curled against hers, and his arms wrapped over hers, she could not move in the slightest without alerting him. Holding her thusly, he might sleep a while without concern. At least without concern about her acting against him. He would need to stay at least partially alert in case she had an ally or enemy who might discover them here.

  With true Seelie elegance, embracing her in this manner served another purpose beyond knowing where she was and testing her acceptance of him. Lugh snuggled to her, embracing her like a lover. His face nuzzled against her throat. The natural, warm scent of her filled his senses. Not prey, he thought to the beast. She belongs to me now.