Logan gets up and then picks me up. He lays the chair back into recline and pulls me into his side as we lie down. His warm body is like my personal electric blanket as I curl into him. His long fingers run up and down the length of my exposed arm with a tender caress. I release a heavy breath and relax into the moment.
We sit in silence for what seems like hours until Logan finally gets up and extends his hand to me. I take it and rise from my seat and follow him back to the house under the blanket of stars glistening in the midnight sky.
Another important part of my training, and so far the most intense, has been with Duncan. He’s teaching me about the history that mankind has been protected from. I’m learning of evil that knows no bounds and no mercy. Duncan says that it will take me two months of training before I’m ready to begin my first mission. This news both excites and scares me.
As I learn about this deadly war, which has waged for thousands of years, a widespread fear, sometimes paralyzing, courses through my body. This isn’t child’s play. My role is significant and at times completely overwhelming, but I’m learning to cope. Along with his teachings, Duncan has begun to tutor me in the benefits of meditation and the principle of internal healing. It gives a whole new meaning to mind over matter.
“How is your training coming along?” he asks as he motions for me to follow him into his meditation room.
“I’m sore all over, and I feel like I’m never going to get the hang of this.” My tone is a bit whiny and drawn out, but I’m beat, physically and mentally. Thad kicked my ass all over the training room today. When I would strike, he would block, when I would block, he would catch my feet and body slam me into the mat.
I follow Duncan to a mat and take a seat. There’s a rock in the corner with a constant water flow that lends a relaxing vibe. Duncan lights some candles and incense. At first I think it’s a little cliché, but then he takes a seat next to me, cross-legged, and closes his eyes. He begins to whisper a chant. The candles flicker, and I feel a presence enter the room with us. It isn’t like another human has stepped into the room—more like something sentient.
I close my eyes and begin to chant along with him once I realize the chant is repetitive. The more I chant, the more a total sense of calm and ease enters my body. I feel a rush of warmth enter my being. Tiny fissures of heat dance inside my skin and tingle from the inside out. My aches slowly dissipate, and the burning pain in my muscles soothingly flows from my pores. It’s like having a warm tide wash in and gently sweep out with all my worries and discomfort as it recedes. With a sigh of contented relief, I open my eyes to find Duncan staring back at me.
There is something familiar in his eyes as he studies me. I can’t put my finger on it, but it’s slightly unnerving. A sense of déjà vu. Like I’ve been here with him before, even though I know I haven’t. He cocks his head to the left a bit and drinks in the sight of me. I quickly look down at my knotted fingers, nervously twisting them in my lap to avoid his gaze. Duncan and I have moments like this frequently. He will go into a sort of trance-like state and just stare at me like he’s trying to piece together an important puzzle but is missing too many pieces. It’s hard to explain, but it reminds me of when my father and I would be working a jigsaw puzzle and he would hold a piece of it in his hand and stare at the picture on the box, trying to figure out where it went. Well, that’s how Duncan looks now. Like he’s trying to place me but can’t quite figure out where.
“I need to show you something, Sulwen.”
I follow him as we walk toward the library. Duncan walks over to a table where an old book lies wide open, as if someone stepped away in the middle of reading it.
“Here.” He points a finger to a paragraph on the worn page.
I pull a chair out and take a seat, then bend over the huge book. Its pages are yellowed with age, the edges worn from frequent use. The writing looks as if it’s been drawn with a quill and written in Old English calligraphy. It’s beautiful, to say the least. I read the text where Duncan pointed.
Through the sands of time shall come the one. Hair of fire. Skin of cream. A child born unto the stars and of a king.
I look up to Duncan. “What does this mean?”
With a contemplative expression on his face, he explains, “The Kairos, ancient texts define it as a propitious moment for decision or action. Go on…” He angles his chin toward the pages, motioning for me to keep reading.
I look back down to the page and continue to read.
The time will come when they shall stand as one. One of sun and one of moon.
Duncan takes the seat next to mine and leans in over the book with me. “The text is over one thousand years old. It has been handed down from one Templar to another and rewritten in the language of the times by our scribes.”
My eyes are fixated on the piece of history before me. “Amazing. But what does it mean? It must hold some significance for you to go to such measures to preserve it.” I look over at Duncan. His eyebrows are furrowed in thought, and his fingers are tapping out a staccato beat on the page.
“Hmm.” He pushes back from the table, gets to his feet, and then starts to pace while in deep thought. He stops, and his eyes widen as if he’s figured something out. “By damn. It all makes sense now. It’s you, lass.” He claps his hands together with a loud pop that startles me, and I nearly fall out of my chair.
“What do you mean it’s me? Duncan, none of this makes any sense.”
He rubs his hands together as if he’s found the key to a trunk full of gold. His mouth parts in a knowing grin. “Lass, you’re a star child. That has to be it. It would explain the reason they have hunted you so.”
“Wait a minute. Who has hunted me? What are you talking about?”
He reaches up and pulls at his beard a couple of times. Seemingly resolved, he begins to answer, “They’re called Stratagai, and they are not of this plane.” He sighs and takes his seat again. “You see, there are fissions, or cracks, as you call them, within the Great Barrier. Only those weak of power can cross over without harm. The greater the power, the stronger the resistance.” I nod in understanding as I take in what he’s relaying to me. It’s the first real piece of solid information I’ve gotten since I came here.
“Think of it like crumbs passing through a hole. The larger the chunk, the more likely it is to get stuck.”
“I get it. So what does this have to do with me, and what’s a Star Child?”
“Well, that would be the million-dollar question, now, wouldn’t it? You see, we don’t know what a Star Child is or what his or her purpose is because…you’re the first.”
I glance down to the book and trace the letters before me. One of sun and one of moon. What can that possibly mean? I was never any good at solving riddles, and it doesn’t appear that has changed.
Duncan pulls the book closer to him and flips through several pages, briefly pausing before flipping through more.
“I need to study this. Would you mind closing the door on your way out, Sulwen?” His eyes never leave the book as he settles into his chair for a long night of reading and deciphering ancient clues.
Several weeks passed and my daily routine carried on without fault. My time with Logan was scarce, with all of it devoted to honing my skills.
“Duncan, tell me about my ancestors and why the Macgregor bloodline is so important for the wall spell.” I had been calling it that, much to his dismay.
He looks up from his desk and removes his reading glasses. He has such a dignified aura about him. Like a much-better-looking version of Sean Connery. He’s hot for his age. His stony face cracks a brief smirk. He’s always amused by me but tries so hard to hide it. I think he fears growing attached to me.
“It is not called the wall spell, Sulwen, and you well know it.” He’s always so damn proper and eloquently spoken. I guess my Southern upbringing has made me predisposed to slaughtering the English language. “I will tell you the story, but it’s not a short tale. Do you
have adequate time to listen?”
I nod enthusiastically. I’d make time if I didn’t have it. This question has been burning in my brain. I need to know why my bloodline has played such an important role in this war. I walk over to his desk and plop down unceremoniously into the chair facing him.
“Speak, oh wise one. I am but your humble student.” I smile deviously at him and receive a real grin back. An honest-to-God real grin. I knew it…he adores me.
He reaches up to loosen his collar. He’s wearing a black button-down beneath a charcoal gray fisherman’s sweater. He’s the picture of a blue-blooded dignitary.
He clears his throat and takes a quick swallow of what I think is Scottish whiskey and then casually leans back in his chair. It creaks a little with his masculine weight but reclines back. He threads his fingers together, and they hang in the air, suspended over his flat stomach. His elbows are on the armrests of his chair. He always strikes this pose when he’s about to tell me something important.
“This story begins as most that I have told you. The Enkelit were at first loyal to their cause, but they later craved the very essence of life that eluded them. You see, when Odin created them, he failed them in one very important area: emotion. Unlike you and I, they lack human emotions. They cannot feel pain, fear, love, greed, or any other human emotions. This was something they greatly desired. You know the story of how the Enkelit came to be.”
I nod with rapt attention, hanging on his every word. I’ve been reading the Templar books from the library like they’re my new favorite mystery series.
“Well, lass, Gabriel was the hungriest of the lot. For power, that is. After Odin created the Enkelit, the Jumalat damned them with the emotions they had long sought out. Emotions were thrust upon them full force.” He raises a brow at me and smirks. “You can well imagine how overwhelmed they must have been to suddenly have these unknown feelings running rampant through their systems. I would compare it to a tsunami sweeping over them and drowning everything in its path.” He pauses and takes a drink of his whiskey.
“They came down to Earth to fulfill their every heart’s desire. Carnal knowledge being at the top of the list. Gabriel was of course the first to descend. What he was not prepared for was a sweet Scottish beauty with long auburn curls that glowed like fire in the sun. It is said that she was the bonniest lass in all the lands. She was also betrothed to a chieftain’s son. However, the heart cannot be made to bend to one’s will, and she and Gabriel fell in love with one another.”
He shakes his head with dismay and glances at me. “Gabriel sought permission to wed the young beauty, but Odin denied his request and forbid their relationship to carry on further. As you can imagine this did not sit well with the great Enkelit Gabriel. He went back to the planes and sought out his heart’s desire. They were wed in secret and soon she was with child. Upon his return to Asgard, Gabriel was stripped of his powers and imprisoned until Odin could think of a suitable punishment for his actions. While he was away the young woman was visited by her grandmother, and upon this visit a tonic was slipped into her beverage. Days later she would die and take her unborn child with her to the netherworld. You see lass, her grandmother was a soothsayer, and she was superstitious as to the mixing of blood with a divine being. To protect her clan from the wrath of Odin, she took the life of the woman Gabriel had sworn to love all of his days.”
I wrinkle my brows in confusion. “What’s a soothsayer? I mean, I’ve heard of them, but I never really knew the true meaning behind their purpose in the scheme of things.”
Understanding me, he nods and continues, “A soothsayer is what we now know as a druid.” He pauses for a moment, takes a sip, and then continues. “Upon gaining his freedom Gabriel went back to the planes to find his wife, but instead of a warm embrace he was met with a cold grave. In his rage he slaughtered the village and murdered the grandmother, but not before he cursed the old soothsayer and all the women of her line. As her blood spilled onto the soil, so did the curse flow into her lineage. It is said that the ground shook for three days straight, and the clouds poured red rain from the skies.” He sips his whiskey again and then sets it on the table beside his chair.
“So you see, the lass was a Macgregor, and when a blood sacrifice is made in the name of the clan, all of the bloodline that follows shall carry the curse as well. It is written that the Lady Fate alone has the power to rewrite what has been set in motion.”
“But why only the females in the Macgregor line?”
He ponders this for a second and answers resolutely, “I would speculate it was the blood of the matriarch that covered the soil, and therefore the curse follows the women within the lineage. Curses are not always complex in nature, and yours, my sweet lass, is one of the simplest in making. Ill-fated love never ends well.” He pauses for a minute as deep sadness encompasses his expression.
My heart breaks for Gabriel. To have the woman he loved taken away so brutally and him having been powerless to stop it. “That’s horrible! What was her name, the young woman Gabriel loved?”
He releases a pent-up sigh, and all the emotion that briefly appeared sweeps from his face. “Sulwen.” He smiles apologetically and stands from his chair. “I’ve a meeting I must attend. If that’s all?” He looks at me in question, and I nod. “Until next time, lass.” With that he leaves me alone in the room to ponder what I’ve just learned.
Chapter
Nine
Logan is teaching me the art of knife and sword wielding. It seems a little ridiculous, but he’s informed me that modern weapons hold no place in the war we are waging. Bullets are no match against the mythical, and magic can easily shield against their penetration. The sacred steel our weapons are forged with has been enchanted, and no creature, mythical or magical, can deflect them.
“Left, then right, Sully. You need to push toward your opponent with force. Make him step back. When you have him stepping back, his attention is going to be divided. That’s when you strike hard and fast.” He follows this up with several quick strikes that end with the red ball on the tip of his fencing sword on the padding of my chest over my heart.
My arms fall to my sides in defeat. “Ugh, I suck at this. I’m better with daggers and crossbows. Besides, this fencing sword doesn’t weigh half of what a real sword weighs. How am I supposed to wield a forty-pound piece of steel with any kind of skill? I’m not that strong, Logan.” My plea reeks of self-pity, and I hate myself for allowing it to slither in.
Logan closes the distance between us and pulls my head into his sweat-slick bare chest. He never wears any kind of protection when we spar. At first I thought it was arrogance, and then he explained that all of the knights trained without pads because in the battlefield they couldn’t afford heavy armor to slow them down. They needed to train exactly how they would fight. I, of course, teased him to no end about how fighting bare-chested would make the enemy swoon with lust. This ended in a tickling match and eventually with him thrusting deep inside my womb and his seed spilling into my moist depths. Just thinking about it sends a tingle between my thighs. I involuntarily shiver in his arms.
He chuckles a little and kisses the top of my head. “Such a lascivious little thing. You make me yearn to be between your thighs to the point of distraction.” He presses his hard length against my hip and grinds it in slow, sensual circles. My breathing becomes short and choppy as desire consumes me. My channel is slick with the need to be filled with his thick hardness.
“Come on, mates. You can have a naughty in the privacy of your own room. I keep watching this, and I’ll crack a fat for sure,” Chase taunts as he makes his entrance.
We pull apart, and I blush to the roots of my hair at being caught feeling Logan up. Logan adjusts the bulge in his shorts as he walks over to the rack on the wall and puts our equipment away. I pull the chest pad off and hand it over so he can put it away too.
I step away from Logan and watch Chase as he starts doing his warm-up stretches.
“By the way, what the hell is ‘crack a fat’?” I ask.
Chase busts out laughing and literally folds over clutching his gut he is laughing so hard at me. If I thought my face couldn’t get any redder, I was wrong. Logan sidles up next to me, coughing and laughing out loud.
“Babe, you seriously do not want to know. Come on; let’s leave him to it.” He tugs on my arm, and I start to follow him.
“Don’t get your knickers in a knot, love. I’m just teasing you. Logan loves to crack a fat. Just ask him.”
Logan flips him off. Chase laughs out loud, shaking his head, and walks over to the wall where his workout accessories are. He reaches up and grabs a jump rope to begin his workout. His bald head shines like new money under the bright fluorescent bulbs. Chase has a very athletic build. He’s tall like the rest of them, probably around six-foot-two, give or take an inch, and I’d say he weighs in around 230 pounds, give or take ten pounds. But what sets Chase apart are his skills with hand-to-hand combat. He can break a neck or sever a spinal cord in seconds. I’ve watched him attack Bionic Bob, the dummy with electrodes that show when you’ve inflicted a fatal injury, and Chase can render anyone motionless in under a minute.
I turn back to Logan, who was watching our exchange with an approving eye. He likes that I’m forming friendships with his team. In all reality it’s essential to my survival.
Logan wraps his arm around my shoulders and pulls me into his side as we make our way upstairs. “Let’s finish what you started, my little vixen.” He kisses the top of my head, and our pace quickens as the staircase comes into sight.
I look up at him and realize how much taller he is than me. At about five-foot-eight inches, I’m not short by any means, but Logan is probably about eight inches taller than me, so I’d say he’s around six-foot-three. I like that he’s much taller than me. It feels good to know that he can manhandle when the mood strikes us. I grin and look up into his smiling eyes.
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