by Julia Milla
Pulling himself from his thoughts, the black dragon again focused on Caitlin’s memories. He watched the family at the dinner table, sharing stories of their day while teasing and laughing. He loved that their father, Alexandru, as their mother Catherine called him, took the time to listen to each of his children and give them the attention they so desperately deserved.
Catherine reminded him of his own mother. So, unlike all the old myths and folk tales about banshees, she was beautiful and full of life, not a frightful old hag wandering the countryside looking for those bound for the afterlife. Although, he had no doubt she was a herald of death and would alert all in the vicinity with her distinctive wail. The immense power he felt in Caitlin’s memory, as well as the strength he knew his mate possessed, assured him that Catherine was first and foremost a mother with a fierce loyalty to protect her family at any costs.
All too soon it was time for bed. He smiled as he listened to Caitlin say her prayers and beg her poppa to read her a story. Alexandru was quick to give in and even gave each of the characters a special voice, to which his daughter giggled and clapped with delight.
When the story was over, Caitlin’s dad kissed his very tired little girl on the head, told her to have sweet dreams, and turned on her nightlight before exiting the room. Kyran had looked forward to simply watching the young Caitlin sleep; instead, he was immediately caught up in a whirlwind of sights and sounds that made him dizzy as his banshee’s memories sped forward.
Gone was the quiet, peaceful home of a happy family, dreaming of the next new day to enjoy one another and the beautiful life they had together. The serenity the Brookes family had known instantly shattered as Catherine’s death wail shook the rafters while a platoon of hunters surrounded their home. Dressed in black from head-to-toe to remain undetectable, the fact that they chose to also cover their faces, proving what cowards they were, made Kyran shake with rage as he watched them preparing to attack. Their hatred for who or what they believed lived within those hallowed walls bathed the entire memory in a dark red hue and filled the dragon’s nostrils with the acrid scent of rotting flesh.
Kyran felt as if he’d been punched in the gut, the breath sucked from his lungs, when he saw the faces of Tariq O’Baoill and his evil offspring, Adam and Eve, commanding the hunters. His firsthand knowledge of their ability to inflict pain struck fear in the black dragon’s heart as he anticipated what he was about to see. The smirks on their faces and exuberant way they gave the countdown made both man and dragon roar with unbridled fury. He screamed, unable to stop himself, even though he knew he was watching a recollection from Caitlin’s memory… something that had happened in the past…something he couldn’t prevent or control.
Holding his breath, he watched the bastards break down the doors and smash the windows, even blowing holes in a few of the exterior walls, while his eyes searched for a mere glimpse of the tiny Caitlin. Catherine’s wail continued, shattering windows and causing the insurgents without ear plugs to fall to their knees, paralyzed by pain and fear. Not even the explosions and gunfire could compete with the sheer power the banshee let loose into the atmosphere.
Ancient magic cut through the gunpowder and smoke right before Kyran caught sight of Alexandru throwing spells like grenades at those daring to attack his family. Unfortunately, neither Catherine nor her husband were a match for the massive number of hunters. From one heartbeat to the next, the banshee’s wail was silenced and the gypsy was cut down where he stood.
Kyran’s heart ceased to beat as Tariq ordered Adam and Eve to the children’s rooms with a bellowed, “Take them or destroy them, the choice is yours.”
The evil grin on Eve’s face assured that no one within her grasp would survive that night. There was no doubting Adam, the weaker of the twins, would obey his sister’s every command like the sniveling coward he continued to be. Hating his feelings of helplessness and despair, wanting to turn back the hands of time and save Caitlin’s family, the black dragon shook with the need to see the younger version of his mate, to know how she’d survived.
Glimpsing tiny little fingers and bright blue eyes peeking through the small gap between the bathroom door and its frame, Kyran almost smiled. Sadly, he instead found himself holding his breath as Bailey’s blood-curdling scream cut through the crash of splintering wood that accompanied Eve’s booted foot as the hunter kicked down the door to the little girl’s room and immediately began firing her automatic weapon, only stopping when the walls contained more holes than actual plaster.
Tears flooded the little banshee’s face as Adam repeated the actions of his sister on Thomas’ door. However, Caitlin’s older brother was ready. When the male O’Baoill twin stopped firing, the young boy flung a spell at Adam’s chest, throwing the hunter across the hall and into the wall behind him while also momentarily blinding him.
Making a run for it, screaming for the family he believed still lived, Thomas made it as far as the top of the stairs before Eve turned, took aim, and shot him in the back of the head. One bullet, well placed, ended a life with limitless possibilities. Kyran’s sorrow weighed heavy on his heart. He fought to breathe. He knew the treachery the O’Baoills were capable of but had never considered that they would actually stoop so low as to harm children sleeping soundly in the safety of their beds. Once again, the black dragon tried to escape the web of Caitlin’s memories, only to be pulled farther into her mind, reliving all her terror and unable to do anything but stand idly by and watch the carnage.
The silence that echoed through what was left of the Brookes’ home ended as Eve bellowed, “All clear. Everybody out. Set the charges,” while motioning for her brother to follow her to safety.
Kyran felt as if he was the one huddling between the toilet and the wall with his head between his knees, holding a teddy bear with a missing ear and most of his fur rubbed off. With her tiny fist shoved in her mouth to stifle her screams and tears streaking down her face, Caitlin rocked back and forth, telling her bear with her thoughts that everything would be okay.
For the first time since his mother passed away, Kyran’s eyes filled with tears. He knew she would survive but was totally unprepared for how his mate, already a pillar of strength and courage at a young age, would escape what was about to happen.
Tariq O’Baoill commanded, “Retreat!”
The sounds of booted feet pounding against the packed earth shook the house.
Eve began to countdown, “Five…four…three…two…one…” which ended with four simultaneous flashes lighting the night sky. Fire roared to life, immediately engulfing what was left of the wooden structure; the home that only a few moments ago had been a place of love and security.
Caitlin wailed. Not the howl of a banshee, but the cry of a small, scared child in need of help. Her blue eyes watered and she coughed uncontrollably as the bathroom filled with smoke. Even in his sleep, Kyran could feel the heat of the blaze on his skin, the stench of the smoke stung his nose, and his throat burned from the accelerant the hunters had used to hasten the fire.
Fearing death more than the fire, Caitlin jumped to her feet, grabbed a towel from the rack over her head still damp from her bath, wrapped it around her body, and in one quick move threw open the door and raced through the flames. Flying down the stairs, her towel caught fire as a burning beam fell from the ceiling, landing in the exact spot she’d just vacated.
Running toward the back door, zigzagging the flames, being braver than any adult he’d ever known, Caitlin grabbed the scalding brass doorknob of the one door still standing, and threw it open, completely ignoring the blistered, raw skin on her palm as she sprinted into the dark night.
Collapsing on the sidewalk, out of range of the fire, Caitlin held onto her charred teddy bear and struggled to breathe. For several long minutes, Kyran felt her heart falter, her lungs work harder than was ever intended, and her little mind wonder if it would be easier to simply let go and follow the light. Thankfully, sirens filled the airwaves, blue and red
flashing lights lit the night sky, and droves of firemen burst onto the scene.
Kyran pushed back the jealousy both he and his dragon felt as a burly EMT carefully scooped up the unconscious Caitlin, ran to his ambulance, and began to perform CPR. The black dragon wished with his entire being that he had been the one to save her but again reminded himself it was only a memory, a piece of his mate’s life she’d survived, a piece of the puzzle that made her the miraculous woman he’d met only a short day ago. His heart soared as his little banshee coughed and wheezed, eventually fighting those trying to help her by pushing at the oxygen mask covering her face while screaming that she couldn’t see.
The fire had burnt her sweet little face, her long dark curls, and most of the pink nightie, whose tattered remains barely covered her body. He watched the doors of the ambulance close and in his mind, tried to race forward to be with the one claiming his heart one broken piece at a time. But the sounds of a dog barking and someone yelling his name pulled him from Caitlin’s dreams and had him jumping up from his pallet on the cold, hard cave floor and stalking to the mouth of his grotto.
The sounds of footsteps knocking rocks off the trail to his hideout and the smell of daffodils reached him at the same time as Duke’s bark, immediately followed by Caitlin’s voice echoing off the rock walls around him. “Kyran?” Another bark and a few more steps then, “Damn you, Kyran, answer me. I know you can hear me.”
Grabbing an almost clean pair of jeans he’d borrowed from a campsite on his way home, Kyran chuckled to himself. “Nae even bein' blind stops mah lass from getting whit she wants. Whit th' hell am Ah gonnae do noo?”
Chapter Four
She had waited as long as she could. Had paced the floor until she was sure there were grooves in the wood. Had even taken Duke out so many times the poor dog finally just sat on the deck and yipped for her to join him. Laying on the chaise under the stars, Caitlin tried to close her eyes only to be met with nightmares from the past rearing their ugly heads at every turn. It hadn’t happened for years. She was sure she and Marcie had laid those demons to rest through their massive hours of counseling, but here they were alive and well and robbing her of much needed rest.
Well, those and that damned dragon…
On her fourth, or maybe it was fifth, attempt at sleep, Caitlin felt Kyran’s presence in her mind. Knew immediately he was sleeping and that the stirring of the ghosts of her past was being caused by his unconscious mind seeking answers, trying to connect with her. Although still disconcerting, it at least calmed her anxiety enough to allow the banshee to fall asleep just as the sweet warmth of the first rays of the morning sun kissed her cheeks.
Almost immediately, Caitlin found herself walking along a dark corridor, feelings of dread and fear closing in all around her. The stench of decay stung her nostrils and the icy fingers of death danced along her spine. It took a moment for her to gain perspective and when she did, her heart sank, for she was not caught in some random dream of her own making, but experiencing one of Kyran’s memories. Not only witnessing, but actually reliving the recollection as if it were happening to her.
Silver ate at the skin of his wrists and ankles. The clang of the chains that kept him suspended from the ceiling echoed against the stone walls as he tried to ease the ache in his stretched and beaten muscles. His mind was clouded from the numerous drugs and herbs they continually pumped into his system. The strong white magic of his dragon, stretched to its limit, was only able to keep the attack at bay, not heal the abuse. The bastards holding him knew they couldn’t control him, so they kept him groggy and wore ear plugs to avoid his fatal screech.
The sound of steel scraping against concrete alerted the black dragon to another arriving enemy. Bracing himself for the surge of electricity his captors shot through his body as one of their many forms of sick entertainment, Kyran was surprised to see an old, stooped wizard shuffling in front of him. He was even more shocked that the man had dared to come alone, as even the heavily armed hunters came in packs of six when they accompanied the ‘doctors’ to perform their heinous experiments.
Watching intently while the elderly man went about his business as if Kyran wasn’t there, muttering to himself and pulling various bags and bottles from the leather satchel he’d pulled from under his tattered and worn robes, the Phantom had no clue what was about to happen; only that it was guaranteed to be painful. Unfortunately, his answer came all too quickly. The old wizard walked to the far wall, pushed the button that would lower the black dragon from the rafters, and stood with a long silver rod in one hand and a glowing stone in the other.
Just as the tip of Kyran’s toes touched the floor, the wizard moved forward, smiled, and asked, “And how are you, Kyran O’Connor?” His voice was low and gravelly; the signs of age evident not only in his words, but also by the deep sagging wrinkles of his ruddy and scarred complexion. Age meant wisdom and knowledge, and that, combined with the power the elderly one left in his wake, was enough to make the black dragon prepare for the worst.
“Doo Ah knoo you?”
“No…no, no, no, but I know you.” The wizard gave a raspy chuckle, raised his eyebrows, and continued, “You are the black dragon of legend. The one with the strength and fire of the Universe’s blessed race, the shriek of his mother’s people, and the ability to kill with just a thought. The one known as the Phantom.” Shaking his head as he raised his watery blue eyes to Kyran’s swirling grey ones, the mystic shook his head. “You know it’s a shame.” He coughed and wheezed until Kyran thought the old geezer might pass out before talking a deep breath and adding, “A real shame what they want me to do to you.” He tsked. “These nasty bastards have no clue what they’re messing with. But I, unlike you, am trapped in a hell of my own making and must obey.”
He touched the tip of the silver spike to the glowing gem. Light, bright and startling, burst from the stone, filling the entire cavern with a brilliant kaleidoscope of reds, yellows, blues, and greens. Humming a haunting tune, the wizard began to chant, alternating between Gaelic and English. “Marcáil a bhaint de, marcáil a subdue, stop a chur leis Dragon, stop a chur leis an fear. Marking to suppress, marking to subdue, stop the dragon, stop the man.”
The longer he chanted, the brighter and hotter the light grew, until the gem was literally vibrating in the old wizard’s hand and Kyran’s dragon was roaring. Magic beat at the Guardsman from both inside and out. His body shook. His muscles tensed and contracted, attempting to contort as the beast within his soul fought to be set free, to destroy the one trying to put him in a cage...to ultimately destroy him.
Sweat poured down Kyran’s body. He fought to catch his breath. His vision blurred. On and on the wizard chanted, working toward a crescendo that had blood pouring from the Phantom’s eyes and ears, running down his naked body, coating the burning symbols that had mystically appeared upon his chest.
All at once, as if a switch had been flipped, the light extinguished and the wizard dropped to the ground. Darkness, thick and complete, filled the cell. Silence echoed through his stone prison. Both man and dragon breathed a sigh of relief that the spell had stopped but immediately felt a significant loss in magic flowing between the two.
“Ye filthy bitch. Shoow yer face,” Kyran bellowed. “Ye send this wretch in tae bespell me? Ye think ye kin stop me?” He tugged at his chains, kicked at the floor beneath his toes, and using all his remaining strength, fueled by his fury, pulled his bruised and battered body up until he was eye level with the shackles binding his wrists. Shouting the words he knew would bring his captors running, Kyran roared, “Ah’ll see ye dead, Eve, ye filthy mongrel. Ah'll bathe in yer blood!”
The huge steel-reinforced door to his prison flew open. In ran eight hunters, dressed in black, faces covered as always, pointing their guns he knew were loaded with silver at the middle of his forehead. The leader commanded, “Down, beast. You know the rules.”
Ignoring the bastard’s words, Kyran instead began to swing his feet,
listening for the sound of Eve O’Baoill’s heels hitting the stone floor as she inevitably made her way to him. Higher and higher he rocked. The ceiling coming closer with every swing. And then, just as he’d known it would happen, the click…click…click of the bitch approaching reached his ears.
Counting her steps, he slowed his breathing, flexed the muscles across his back and arms, and watched the door for her arrival. Looking her dead in the eye as she crossed the threshold with her arms folded across her chest and a smug grin upon her face, Kyran pumped his legs one more time, and just as Eve stopped in front of him and his feet touched the ceiling, he pushed off with every remaining ounce of his strength.
The force of both man and dragon working together, even with the dark magic the wizard had thrust into his system, was too much for the silver coated shackles. The metal burst from his skin, raining shards down on Eve, her guards, and the old mystic who still lay motionless on the ground. Flying through the air by sheer force of will and momentum, Kyran heard his captor’s immediate orders, “Shoot him down. I don’t care how bad you have to hurt him, just don’t kill him.”
Landing on the far side of the room, the Phantom rolled to the side, using the metal box they had originally tried to keep him in as cover. Bullets pelted the huge crate. Eve screamed louder and with more insistence that Kyran be caught. The hunters’ boots pounded against the floor as they came closer. The black dragon crept around the corner and stopped ...waiting …planning. Judging the distance between where he knelt and the only door out of the hell he’d been confined to, Kyran waited for the perfect second to complete his escape.
Not sure he could make it, but willing to die as opposed to spending another minute in the hands of the sadistic O’Baoills, the black dragon summoned all his courage and every ounce of strength in his body, stood to his full height and, just as he heard the tap of Eve’s heels closing in on his location, burst from behind the container and ran straight at her. The look of surprise on the bitch’s face would have been comical under any other circumstances, but in this case, it only served to spur Kyran on.