Addictive Gloamshade

by Poppet

  Yeah right. I wish.

  “Deliah, you don't have to look so doubtful. You have my word that man will never cross your path again.”

  Slumping weakly onto the edge of the bed, my fears are gnawing my legs hollow, my dread of Dias coming on so strong that the tears from all the stress accumulate, leaking betrayal down my face as I avert my gaze to examine my hands.

  My one companion and ally is currently comforting him instead of me. Taking a deep serrated breath, I determinedly squash the weeping fit and look back at Ewan.

  He's resting his head on a propped arm, staring at me. It's now that I notice his knuckles are bloodied, like his mouth. What happened to his shirt? Good lord, so the weights aren't for show to impress women, he really uses them. Color me slow for only noticing now.

  “What happened? Are you hurt?” I ask.

  Don't deny it. You look hurt. It's pouncing up and down like a demented leprechaun on my nurturing nerve.

  “I had a little word with him, asked him a few questions, then beat the crap out of him when he lied.” Before I can argue that he looks like he received the raw end of that conversation, he says, “My lip was split when my right hand man punched me away from Dias. He did it to break my fury as I was having too much fun.”

  “Your friend punched you?”

  He relaxes back, abandoning the coddling of Bella, “Yeah, he punches like a fucking pansy.” He's chuckling to himself as if it is piss yourself funny.

  They seem to like punching each other. It's bizarre.

  “Ewan...”

  “Yes darling?” he drawls, his citrine eyes glistening with a hint of rascal to match his 'yes dear' tone.

  “It looks to me like you had your arse handed to you too. Should I go get a medic or something?”

  His congenial expression storms into disgruntled, “That tosser didn't lay a finger on me. I look like I do because I've hardly slept, I'm in desperate need of a shower, Gunn punched me and you headbutted me, all in fairly short succession. Add to that the minor detail that I used the potion we use to heal ourselves on you as an antidote to the poison your boyfriend fed you, which you refused to ingest and wasted the bulk of it down your chest, hence I am destined to remain in this state until nature takes its course. The only remedy is if you let me lick the remains of the healing potion out of your cleavage, which I kinda doubt is anywhere on your agenda for the near future.”

  Guilt hoods me, gloom and despondency ravaging my precarious calm, “I'm sorry.”

  “Don't be, I'm fucking proud of the way you reacted. You can't shoulder blame for actions borne from ignorance. Don't worry about me poppet, I just need a decent sleep, a meal, and a long hot shower.”

  “Ewan–”

  “Deliah, what was chewing your arse a new blowhole when I went to get you coffee?”

  That reminds me!

  “What the hell are my clothes doing hanging in your wardrobe? Am I kidnapped? Are you holding me for ransom or something?”

  “And who would pay to get you back?” he murmurs, using a tone dripping with suspicious intrigue. It speaks of a thousand questions he wants answered.

  “No one. The only person who has that kind of agenda you've already met.”

  “Well he's in no state to sign a check or issue death threats. As for your clothes, everything you had with you was relocated here. Look love, can we have this conversation after I grab a shower and we go for breakfast? I'm ravenous after expending that energy and you haven't eaten, and what you did have in your system you painted all over the ashroom floor. How are you feeling?”

  “Fine. Shaken up, bit of a headache, but am okay akshly,” I say, giving an affirmative nod.

  “I'll go clean your puke off me, freshen up a bit, and I'll explain why you're here over a plate of scrambled eggs. Okay muffin?”

  “Are you sure Dias isn't going to sneak back here to finish the job when your back is turned?” I can't help myself, I'm neurotic for a damn good reason.

  Pushing Bella off his lap, he edges to a perch on his seat, leaning forward and folding my hands between his giant ones, “Deliah...” He heaves a heavy sigh, looking down at the floor for a moment, as if he hates to say what he's about to say. Looking back up, his eyes serious, he says, “Dias is dead. It would have been a group effort regardless. The second the clan heard he'd hurt you they all wanted to smash his head in. As it was I had to hold Grant off him after Gunn punched me away from Dias. That prick did not leave the building alive.”

  “How do you know?” I desperately want it to be true, even though I can tell he's worried about my reaction of him having a hand in Dias' 'demise'.

  He's telling me he's a murderer, but so was Dias. When has murder ever stood between me and happiness? I don't seem to have the sensitivity to death and the deliberate taking of life that normal folks do.

  “I know because I witnessed the fatal blow. His cranium was crushed. Believe me darling, that man will never hurt you again.”

  “Who killed him?” I owe the man a fat kiss.

  “An unwilling hero. I gave him a direct order to finish Dias off while I held Grant at bay, but the other men were itching to pitch in. Either way, the man is a corpse and won't be coming back for you. Not now, not ever.”

  What men? Is this an army hideout?

  The gentle understanding, the compassion, the loving tone, the care for my life and well-being from this stranger, it unlatches a door within my soul, swallowing me with gratitude.

  Flinging my arms around his neck because he's so close, I squeeze, tears slipping out again in heartfelt relief, “Thank you.”

  I'm free!

  Huge arms fold around me, compressing me gently to him, “It was my pleasure, darling. More than you can fathom. No one gets to hurt you when you're in my care.”

  He smells like winter rain cologne and sweat, smoke and a touch of vomit. He really does need that shower but right this second I don't care how he smells, I feel safe.

  For the first time in my life I feel safe... and protected.

  Chapter 9

  Then to the Goddess a second grief cometh,

  When Odin fares to fight with the Wolf

  ~ Völuspá

  Deliah:

  Ewan dawdles out of the bathroom, a mage-black towel tied around his hips while he towel swipes his 'hair' with the matching one.

  Doing the tilted head ear-dry wiggle, he smiles at me, “You should have a decent shower too. I did the bare minimum last night in my attempt to clean you up, I didn't want to invade your privacy more than necessary.”

  What happened to ladies first? I bet the water's lukewarm and there are puddles all over the bathroom floor.

  I know my grumpy face just snuck across my expression but I can't help it. I totally suck at hiding what I'm feeling.

  “You need more coffee,” he winks, sauntering to the closet and opening the left side.

  I opened that side too and felt like a right snoop when I found his stuff instead of mine. It's rather odd being moved in to live with someone without even an introduction. He'd better not expect me to sleep in the same bed as him. I'll sleep with pepper spray under my pillow, as I discovered I still have it in my bag, and now it's in my pocket. You can never be too careful in this world of raving psychos.

  Pausing with a shirt in his hand, he swivels to smirk at me, “I feel it prudent to inform you now that I can access your thoughts. It's a little perk of being your clan chieftan.”

  That bloody does it. I've had enough of this shit.

  Standing, giving him my best 'up yours' glare, I go stomping in the direction of 'out'.

  It only takes fifteen feet before isolation in a strange place replaces ire with doubt, but I am nothing if not stubborn so resolutely continue marching down the long tenebrous passage, hoping to locate the telltale aroma of cooking and follow my nose from there.

  I damn well will have my breakfast and another cup of coffee, and then I'm going to introduce Ewan to my temper.

&nbs
p; This place is so dark it's like being lost in the labyrinth of the damned. Where are we? What is this place? It has that whole clandestine espionage vibe about it. I half expect to cross paths with mad scientists and an M and Q. Which might also explain the weird weaponry in his possession.

  If I was a normal wench I'd be wanting my mommy round about now. This catacomb is horrifically magian and is only briefly perforated with the odd glowing quartz rock to alleviate the endless death-walk of doom.

  I've been meandering for so long in an endless curvaceous path, yet every channel looks identical, that I have to admit I'm utterly lost. It's ruined my rage and left me hyper alert and regretting flouncing off in a huff.

  Why don't they have lines on the floor like you get in hospitals? I'm just about to start yelling for help when a large shadow pounds into the same passage, his footfalls so loud they seem to shake the shiny walls of loose debris.

  “Hello?” I call out, and it comes out way more pathetic than I expected it to.

  “Deliah?” booms back, echoing around and around as if the shadows are making fun of me. This really does come across as a level of hell. I'd hate to get lost here ... completely alone. There's something in the aura of the place that feeds my subconscious well of nightmares.

  “How the fuck does everyone here know my name?” I demand, ignoring the icy trickle of terror sliding down my spine.

  “You're the only female in the crypt right now,” says the voice, as the shadow looms closer.

  Pretending I'm not in the least bit intimidated, I say to the dude, “How do I get to breakfast?”

  He comes close enough for me to see his dimly lit face. It's Alweada. Thank god it's someone I recognize.

  “I'll take you as I'm on my way there myself. How did you get all the way down here?”

  “And where is here?” I ask, when he slips my palm into his and fastens it to the crook of his arm with a heavy warm hand, strolling slowly with me so I can keep up with his stride.

  “This is the bachelor wing. It's not a place you want to be wondering without a chaperone.”

  Fuck!

  “Why?” I mumble, glancing nervously behind us as we walk away from the bachelor 'wing'.

  His laugh is wicked and throaty, “You are unattached, which makes potential suitors behave like eejits. Especially this crowd who all want to step up to fight for your hand. If you didn't have Ewan's authority protecting you this place would be in chaos right now.”

  Ewan's authority? Finally I have a brain to pick for information. Stepping into my 'international spy-girl stilettos', I lean into his solid strength and put on my sweet smile, “Oh? And what makes him so important?”

  Before Alweada can answer, a fucking huge bird with a wingspan that fills the tunnel's width comes swooping over our heads, flying like a mothman out of a Keel novel.

  “Holy fuck!” I squeak, ducking for cover.

  “It's just Adam, no need to be afraid,” he says, as if this kind of activity is perfectly normal on any given day, including witch Fridays.

  “That was … like … a raptor thingamajig thing!”

  He gives me this strange nose-quirk lopsided smile, “Oh right, you don't know that part yet.”

  “What part?”

  “I'll let Ewan tell you. I don't feel like pissing him off after what happened this morning.”

  “What happened this morning?” I ask.

  “That shithead ex boyfriend of yours, and Gunn–”

  “Who's Gunn?”

  He drops his arm from me, holding his hands up in the motion of surrender, “I'm shutting up now before I put my foot in it again. I refuse to answer any more questions. If you want answers interrogate the chief.”

  “And who the fuck is the chief? Jesus, you have more riddles than a Chinese prophet,” I snap, getting riled now.

  He gives me a queer look, “For a brunette you're sure blonder than an Essex girl at times.”

  “Call me a chav again and I'll plant my fist in your eye,” I warn, damn annoyed, alarmed, and confused.

  If he simply answered a straight question with a straight answer a boatload of aggravation could be avoided, yet the threat of physical violence seems to have made his day because he's now giving me the 'interested' stare.

  *

  Ewan:

  I suffocate on my laugh until she's out of earshot.

  Too damn defiant for words! I love her feisty fire. She's been dunked headfirst in the deep end and yet she doesn't back down.

  If she was just that wee bit more confident she would have told me to go fuck myself, and I would have calmly told her I just did. That would have really twisted her garters as I'd just offered her the shower next.

  Haha!

  This is a test of character. She wants to call for me and is fighting it. Courage is to walk through the fear. True courage has doubts, it knows the risks, yet it advances regardless. Not recklessly, but with the caution she's now employing. She's a survivor and no two bit tosser could take that away from her. She's an eagle through and through. They don't care if they're alone, they need no one.

  And that, my dear, is about to change.

  Adam dives into the room just as I'm pulling jeans on, he's so alarmed his thoughts are jumbling and rambling before he gets a word out.

  Holding up my hand in the 'slow down' gesture, I point to the chair. “Catch your breath first. Whatever it is, assemble your thoughts, and deliver them after I've got my boots on.”

  He splats in the chair with spidery legs splayed, his arms flung out either side, his chest heaving with exertion. He must have flown flat out without stopping.

  Okay, maybe I should be alarmed. Who do I have to murder now? Was her trunk filled with skeletons instead of corsets?

  Dressed, I sit opposite him, “Okay son, let's have at it.”

  “We got there just as a crew who look like us, dress like us, speak like us, and fucking smell like us, blew up the entrance to the Raven's nest.”

  “What do you mean?” I scowl, already knowing what he's going to tell me.

  “We've been framed for an attack on the Raven clan. We were fired at in the conflict. Aiden's been clipped but he'll make it. We didn't have a chance for negotiations because Macala was on a fucking rampage of note. One thing the Raven's have kept mum about is the not so minor detail that they're in possession of thundereggs! It was apocalyptic out there, chief. We're damn lucky we made it out alive.”

  “Why would someone attack the Ravens and want to pin it on us?” I mutter, thinking out loud.

  Only one suspect comes to mind. A suspect who's been quiet for so long we underestimated him.

  Changing the subject for Adam to give him something else to worry about, I stand, “After lunch you're starting on Deliah's training. The mist said this would happen and I honestly didn't want to believe it. Macala won't come after us on his own. Deliah needs to get up to speed, quick!”

  He looks like I just popped both his kneecaps.

  His thoughts are louder than the prayers of those who forgot to use a condom last night, and I can't help but smile, “Relax. Gunn is not going to smash your head in. That's a privilege reserved for me.”

  That gets him to smile.

  Good lad.

  “Now off with you! We'll go grab breakfast and then I expect you to prepare for tutoring while I show our new eagle the lay of the land.”

  Hauling himself out his chair, his youthful gangly stride which is all elbows and kneecaps wonks along next to me as we head to the mess hall, “Chief?”

  “Yes Adam?”

  “How come you're giving Gunn this opportunity?” he asks, hope still displayed on his face as if I'll relent and give him a shot at her.

  “Because a chief has to take care of his clan before his own needs. It doesn't matter what I feel or think, what matters is what is best for her, and him.” Slapping him on the shoulder, I give him the 'forget about it' smile, “Your turn will come, son. Don't you fret.”

  “Bu
t Gunn doesn't want her,” he argues, still trying to debate suitability.

  “He will. Ultimately it's her choice Adam, not ours.”

  “So I can–”

  “No. You can't.” My tone is final.

  This discussion is over.

  So Wolf is up to his old tricks, and Raven will be coming for retribution. Shit just got real.

  Chapter 10

  Now is the flight of eagles

  Over the field; the sailors

  Of the sea-horses hie them

  To the Hanged-God's gifts and feasting.

  ~ Skáldskaparmal

  Deliah:

  Ewan's already seated at the long table when I waltz in with Alweada.

  Looking up from his plate piled high with onions, mushrooms, scrambled eggs, and bacon, he raises his mug, “Took the scenic route did you?”

  He offers his eat shit wink as he toasts me, giving me a full frontal view of bunched muscles straining against shirtsleeves when he tilts his neck to down his coffee. He's all sinew and bulge. He could snap enemies with his neck tendons alone. How come he seems so harmless when he's clearly anything but?

  He points to the waiting plate opposite his, “Breakfast is getting cold. Get a move on prima-donna.”

  Alweada squeezes my shoulder, “See you later, I have to go see a man about some food.”

  Adam grins like a buffoon as I sit down opposite Ewan, looking up at the high ceiling clad with wooden carvings of battles. Drawn to the depictions of bloodshed I get a little lightheaded with my neck cramped. The walls are the customary satanic black, but the world on the ceiling is mottled with age into various shades of tortoiseshell.

  “Deliah,” says Ewan, pulling my attention back to him. “I'll take you for the guided tour after you've eaten, then Adam here will introduce you to the art of attack.”